Nick Hart - Comic & Social Critic

Isthmians On The Brink

noreply@blogger.com (Stefan Davis) — Thu, 24 May 2012 05:18:00 +0000

Come join The Isthmians Of Comedy July 24th
at The Brink Lounge in Madison, WI at 9:00PM
for the CD release party for Stefan Davis and
the CD recording for Nick Hart's debut album
"The New N-Word"

Tickets can be purchased HERE and HERE
and at the door.
And don't forget to RSVP to the Facebook event HERE.

We hope to see all of you there!

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Fri, 18 May 2012 22:47:00 +0000

If I do vote in this years presidential election I'm voting for the candidate who answers the question, "Who's flying this damn thing?"

Its In the Mail awaiting Delivery

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 09:02:00 +0000

If a company can no longer produce a product at a profit, the company has to start laying off workers/employees to stay in business. The global economy is based essentially on oil production. 99% of every product produced on the planet uses oil somewhere in the process.

If water begins running short on a lifeboat, it starts being rationed out. The individual/s handing out the rations, if they are wise they will never say how much water is really left as an attempt to maintain order in the lifeboat. If need be, blame can be placed on another passenger on the lifeboat as an attempt to shift the focus on not how much water is left, but rather who gets access to the water supply.

So lets say the lifeboat is the planet we live on, a living being w/finite resources i.e. oil, food etc. Now lets say the "water" on the lifeboat is actually oil. Iran has now cut off the oil supply to both UK and France. Saudi Arabia is cutting production, not in order to make more money (though they will when demand skyrockets) but they are cutting production b/c there is only so much oil left in the ground. High demand accompanied with low supply will be messy!

But they dont want you to know that. So the royal we are told that gas prices are going to go up due to Iran cutting off France and UK. Saudi Arabia knows how much oil they have left. Iran knows how much oil they have left. The US wants that oil, the US needs that oil!

My point is the United States is a corporation and all the "citizens" of the United States are its workers/employees whose main job is to move the product/US dollar around. The dollar is failing around the world and when a company's product is no longer flying off the shelves, it's time to get rid of some dead weight. Then unemployment rises. The pink slip is in the mail for the United States. Its just awaiting delivery.

Peace & Love for All though they hate that shit! 7/1/9/1/9/7/9/?/?/?/?/?

The ones rationing the water/information will shift blame by starting conflicts b/t

Ch. 9 Isthmus Coincidence & Other Mad City Strife

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 20:52:00 +0000

CHAPTER NINE

We were crossing the street to get in the car because I had to go get some money and I swear I felt raindrops.

“So did you get Courtney Love’s number?” Mark asked as he turned away to check the traffic.

“Up yours you gumjob! This girl makes Courtney Love look like, well, Courtney Love.” I said, “But I can tell you I’d gladly hang out with her before I hang out with you and your balloon-knot bandit drug dealing buddies giving each other hard mouthfuls.”

“I’m going to tell them you said that.” Mark replied as he stopped in the middle of the street and started messing with his belt for some reason. The car in the right lane swerved and honked their horn and yelled some cliché obscenity. Then I heard a female voice come from a porch just up from where my car was parked. She apparently knew Mark who was still messing with his belt.

“Playing and staring at it won’t make it any bigger you pervert!” She screamed over the traffic.

It took a moment for Mark to realize it was he that was being addressed. He looked up and scanned the second floor porches and saw the girl as she was flicking him off.

“Blow me you walking dirty leg sperm bank!” Mark yelled as he stood there waiting for me to reach over and unlock the passenger side door.

“Why does everyone hate you?” I asked as Mark climbed in and slammed the door.

“Fuck that hobby horse! She’s just mad I don’t trade drugs for butt massages anymore.” Mark said as he lit an American Spirit.

Butt massages? I thought to myself, the more I heard Mark talk, the more I was starting to believe what was being said about him and what had transpired earlier this week. It was a cause for concern. I put the car in first and released the brake and pulled right into traffic without looking. The night was looking weird.

I exited the money-lending place on East Wash across from the Hawthorne Library Branch and glanced around the parking lot to see if Mr. Pockets was out tonight. I took one last look at Nadia, one of the tellers inside, and smiled then hopped into the car.

Nadia was a beautiful latina who worked at the corporate call center that I do for all of four days. She got offered a better paying job at the check-cashing place because she speaks fluent Spanish. I can honestly say I would’ve married her. She was the first person I thought I’d never see again but because my landlord takes three months to cash a personal check, and Nadia spoke fluent Spanish as well as Portuguese, she was now handling my money order business and I can say I’m happily stalking her.

“I’ve never heard anyone refer to a money lending place as their bank.” Mark said as I put in my Unified Theory disc and skipped to track four, Wither.

“Oh yeah, they know me here.” I replied as I put the car in reverse. I’m going to rob the place someday with Nadia’s help. It will be a thing of beauty.

I pulled out on to East Wash and headed down to Fair Oaks Avenue where Mr. Dean lived. I was a bit nervous driving because I was nearly convinced these shrooms would kick in at any moment and driving while tripping is a test of true skill and Sister Finten said I was a bad test taker and that always bothered me.

We pulled into Mr. Dean’s gravel driveway and I felt I could relax a little bit. I didn’t notice until we parked that I had the windshield wipers running.

“Are the wipers really necessary right now?” Mark asked as he opened his door and got out of the car.

“They inspire confidence.” I replied as I retrieved some cash out of the glove compartment and followed Mark.

I lit up a Camel because they are incredibly cool and we walked around to the back door of the house and knocked on the door. Almost instantly the door opened up and Dean stood there in a jogging suit you’d see a European mobster wear.

“Well I wasn’t expecting little pissant trick o’ treaters this early.” Dean said as he gestured for us to come in to his house.

Mr. Dean looked like one of America’s greatest actors, Christopher Loyd, wild hair and all. Every time he sold me a good-looking bag of nugs, I would say Great Scott. He never laughed which means he never got it or he just ignored it because it was extremely lame.

We walked into the living room which looked like a hotel suite from an early James Bond movie, which I thought was funny because it was just a one bedroom house with a full basement.

“I heard about the trouble you got into this week.” Mr. Dean said looking over his glasses at Mark as he pulled a briefcase out from beside the couch and set it on the coffee table.

“Fuck you, you dumb codger!” Mark said trying not to show his broken tooth.

“I wouldn’t fuck your lil bit on a fork with Oprah’s dick.” Mr. Dean said shaking his head and laughing with his eyebrows raised while he was finishing weighing out the ounce. He rolled up the bag, licked it shut and threw it on the table. I picked it up and examined the goods.

“That ounce has got a little bit of everything. California Orange, White Widow, Northern Lights, Train Wreck, Dirty Girtie, Split Mutton, Twange, Poor Man’s Blessing, OG Kush, Nameless Knick Knack, Bird Nest, Honeypot, and of course some Texas Tumbleweed.” Dean rattled off as he closed the briefcase and set it back on the floor.

“What do I owe you?” I asked putting the bag in my pocket.

“Four hundred will do nicely.” Dean said as he picked up his glass of Scotch and took a sip.

“I’ll give you three-twenty and you’ll like it!” I said with a smile as I threw the cash on the table. Dean knew damn well all those different strands were not in that bag. Hell, half of them he made up. Texas Tumbleweed? Give me a break.

“Fair enough.” Dean said as both Mark and I stood up to leave. We walked out the front door down into the front yard, or what was considered the front yard and we got in the car.

We got on Aberg Avenue from Fair Oaks and that is when the reality hit me so I took a head count of the situation. I had mushrooms in my system and I didn’t know when or if they were going to work, a full ounce of marijuana in my pocket and an idiot that everyone in town despised at the moment riding with me who was also on mushrooms.

I was betting big against the House and I started getting nervous again. All I wanted to do was get back in the neighborhood and get my car parked. Then I could walk the rest of the night and blend in, hide in plain sight, only then could I rest easy and enjoy myself.

Just as soon as I started to relax, Mark screamed as a car came racing down onto Aberg from East Wash almost slamming into us. “Jesus Christ! I think these goddamn shrooms just kicked in!” Mark yelled as he almost took a fifty-mile an hour shit in his pants.

“You aren’t tripping you asshole, that shitbag is drunk!” I yelled back as I had to swerve again to the left to avoid hitting the car.

I tapped the brakes and let the mental midget get ahead of me. I hit my brights and got behind the car which didn’t seem to affect the driver in any way. We couldn’t tell if it was a woman or man driving but which ever it was, they were driving like the Devil was on the hood of their car and they were trying to shake him off and get away.

We were going to call it in but then decided it would somehow be wiser and more fun to watch this idiot try and make it home. They got off Aberg and onto Packer Avenue heading back towards the airport and for a brief moment I thought it might be a pilot that was running late.

They passed the turn to the airport and weaved about another mile or so before turning right into an apartment complex. They would have been home free only they didn’t let go of the wheel in the middle of the turn and instead of doing a soft ninety degree turn, they ended up doing a hard one hundred and forty degree turn and took out a cherry tree.

I stopped the car and we watched in amazement as the driver finally got their vehicle in reverse after finding neutral and drive another three times. They backed out over the curb and back onto the asphalt. They whipped the piece of shit into a parking spot, the door swung open and a woman who had to be in her sixties stumbled out making her way to the front door of the building. Someone buzzed her in and she didn’t even turn around to see that she had left her car running with the door wide open.

We just shook our heads in disbelief and before I could say anything Mark was already out of the car heading straight for the vacant vehicle. I wasn’t surprised. I had seen Mark on a few occasions hop into complete strangers’ cars.

The owner always caught him but he always seemed to avoid fisticuffs. Saying the vehicle was parked in a safety zone was one that always seemed to defuse the situation even if Mark was holding a pint of beer he smuggled out of the bar. I didn’t have a clue what he was thinking of doing with this lush’s Tracer. He put the car in reverse and backed out and pulled up next to me.

“I’m going to teach this bozo a lesson, follow me.” Mark said as he pulled off throwing a bunch of cd’s out of the window.

We headed down Sherman towards Maple Bluff. Every four or five seconds Mark would throw something from inside the car out of the driver’s side window. He was leaving clues. A trail of bread crumbs if you will, bread crumbs that looked like a shoe, purse, more cd’s, paper, jacket, and of course two empty bottles of wine.

Mark found the most remote set of railroad tracks, which happened to be just up the street from the Inferno Bar. Mark pulled off the road and started heading up the tracks. He went about two hundred yards and then stopped and parked the car, turned on the hazard lights, hopped out and closed the door and put the keys in the door lock and ran back to my car.

He opened the passenger side door and dove in and I pulled off before he could even get the door shut. “You do realize we just committed a felony? Grand theft auto.” I said, not exactly thrilled with his stunt.

“How can one be expected to uphold chivalry in this town if it is scoffed at on a daily basis? Fuck that! Blame it on the video games, we just saved lives.” Mark said as he lit up an American Spirit. Who needs video games?

Ch. 8 from the novel The Isthmus Coincidence & Other Mad City Strife

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 22:59:00 +0000

CHAPTER EIGHT

I was just finishing up doing some final work on the tea when Mark showed up banging on the door. I opened up the front door and had a look around and nodded to Mark to come in without saying a word.

We entered down the hall through the living room into the kitchen as I hurried back to tend to the mushroom tea. Mark entered at his own slow gate only stopping to watch a segment from the show COPS as four police officers ran down and tackled a suspect who is presumed innocent until proven guilty in the court of law.

“You got some nerve walking around in this neighborhood after what happened earlier this week.” I said waiting to hear Mark’s reaction. He didn’t say anything. He just grabbed the scissors and the empty two-liter bottle on the table and walked into the bathroom and shut the door. I didn’t pay much attention to Mark. I was very curious how this tea was going to work.

After about ten minutes, the bathroom door opened up and I heard the flick of a Bic lighter and then bubbles. I turned and looked over my shoulder to see Mark. I did a double take when I saw that one of his front teeth was broken off in the middle. He leaned back against the wall across from the toilet. He stared up at the ceiling and exhaled a giant hit of hash and slowly looked over at me. “This has been the worst week of my adult life.” Mark said as he grabbed the top of the plastic bottle and did another gravity bong hit out of the toilet.

“That bad huh?” I said as I got two glasses down from the cupboard and filled them both full of the mushroom tea.

Mark stood up quickly and walked into the kitchen and quickly grabbed one of the glasses, held it up to his nose and took a whiff. “You are sure about this time release thing?” Mark asked as he took one more smell of the tea.

“Hell no I’m not sure!” I replied. According to the research, we’ve got a good four to four and half-hours until this goes into effect. I raised my glass for a toast.

“May you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you’re dead.” Mark said.

“Here’s to coming back to life.” I replied. We held up our glasses and gave one last toast to Bullgoose Randall and downed the tea. I finished first and set the glass down on the table. “You got any herb on you?” I asked as I belched and threw up a little in my mouth. The tea had a good after taste.

“No, I already got rid of it all.” Mark said as he gave up trying to chug the tea and began sipping it. I believed him. If Mark had herb on him then he was smoking it but I would’ve gone down on a Senator for an eighth at the time.

“You can always call Clint.” Mark said with a lazy crooked grin as he finished the tea and set his glass in the sink.

“Fuck Clint!” I snapped.

Clint was one of the dumbest shadiest sloppiest laziest deadeye dickhead of a dealer I’ve ever met. Mark brought him over one time because he was going to sell me some coke. I left the room for a few moments and when I returned Clint was finishing chopping up a line and told me to do a line for my future. I woke up sixteen hours later in James Madison Park in the grass at lunchtime. I don’t really have any memory of the elapsed time but Mark and Clint both agreed that the smile on my face after I did the line was the first indication that Clint mistakenly cut up a line of his heroin stash.

We were talking about parking tickets. If you have lived in downtown Madison for any amount of time, then you probably have a few tickets still outstanding. The bastard of a city loves to write some parking tickets.

They are thirty dollars now instead of ten, which means the city is fucking itself. When you’re coming home from a long night and the next day is Friday and you want to park on the left side of Ingersoll between May 1^st and November 30^th, you’ll think twice about taking the hit when the fine is thirty dollars which means no one is doing it. I never thought twice when it was ten dollars. It is always worth ten dollars just to get into bed and remember as little as possible on those nights.

I sat back after doing the line of H and just let it ride because I knew immediately I was only going to be able to do this drug once. Nothing is suppose to feel that good. I could have put a gun to my best friend’s head and pulled the trigger and everything would have still felt alright.

If its one thing I’ve learned about drugs, it was the better the high, the worse the low. I sat there while Mark began one of his diatribes about parking on The Isthmus and I could only think of the travesty going on in the world and the billions of dollars being well spent both fighting and aiding terrorism and I could only think was fuck it.

Being on heroin is like feeling like one of Jesus’ illegitimate children and the world loves you for it. It’s like skydiving which feels a lot like you are being tickled by God. It’s so good. I can’t really remember Mark’s story about parking but the cop ruled in his favor which was commendable considering Mark was in the middle of one of his notorious week long blurs on blow.

Mark would do so much blow sometimes he would have stashes hidden in my house and I would not even know about it. Then one afternoon I was disinfecting my flat after getting over the flu and I ended up finding two grams in the back of a picture frame, an old eight ball on the ledge above the door to the bathroom, and another gram hidden in a DVD case. It was in the Great Escape. Oh and five hits of acid tucked away in the Cool Hand Luke case. Kind of a dick move on his part but we all have our faults.

Mark and I were each smoking a cig waiting to see if the mushroom tea would come on quicker than expected. “This shit is fucking bunk!” Mark said, referring to the tea.

“You impatient ungrateful mohair knicker! I told you it will be four to five hours, it’s been forty-five minutes so chill the hell out!” I didn’t mean to snap at Mark like that but you’ve got to keep junkies in their place. Otherwise they’ll get you in trouble.

“Listen to what happened to me last night.” I said in an upbeat tone trying to change the subject. It was hard as hell keeping a straight face looking at Mark’s broken tooth so I stared at the television. “I met this girl down at the Caribou and I’m pretty sure we really hit it off.”

“Why aren’t you totally sure?” Marks asked as he took a drag off his cigarette.

I explained to Mark that about forty-five minutes after I met this beautiful Asian girl name Julia, who may or may not have been an escort but made Lucy Liu look like a Mongoloid, she got up to go plug the jukebox and her friend hops on her barstool and tells me she is happy to see Julia out having a good time. Now I was thinking she had just gotten out of a bad relationship but Mark already knew what I was going to tell him.

“Rehab huh?” Marks said as he ashed his cigarette in an empty can of Wisconsin Amber.

“The girl was on the fucking H train for two and a half years. Like shooting up under her toenails kind of addicted.” I said more surprised than Mark was. I sat there and shook my head glazing over as I watched National Geographic. There were a few moments of silence.

“So did you fuck her?” Mark asked like it was the most natural question to ask next.

“Of course.” I said. She quoted me five hundred dollars but I talked her down to one seventy-five, which was disconcerting at first.

“You wear a condom?” Mark asked, taking a swig of his beer.

“You’re goddamn right!” I lied. Sometimes the consequences are Big and sometimes they are Small.

“You have to be careful with those girls or you’ll end up having a night like my friend Sebastian.” Mark said before letting out a belch.

“What happened to Sebastian?” I asked as I sat up to hear the story.

Mark lit up another cig and set down his beer and began telling me about his friend, Sebastian who met a girl at the Church Key off of University Avenue.

Sebastian said she was the hottest, sexiest, funniest girl he had ever met and she invited him back to her house after bar time. As soon as they walked into her place, this girl jumped all over him threw him down on the couch and straddled him and began taking off her shirt and bra and kissing Sebastian so hard he could barely keep his damn breath and she bit him a few times and he could swear he tasted blood.

Then right in the middle of the make-out session, this girl stops and looks Sebastian in the eyes and says she will do anything he wants, anything. All he has to do is do this one thing for her. Sebastian agrees and she stands up and takes his hand and leads him into her bedroom where she undresses him and does all the things that a good girl does. Then once he is ready for action, she tells him to turn around and face her bedpost while she goes to her closet and takes something off the hanger. Now Sebastian is blinded by lust so he’s not really thinking clearly and he turns around and faces the bedpost and she walks back over with her hands behind her back so whatever she is holding can’t be seen.

She begins gently rubbing his shoulders and makes her way down his back to his ass when he turns around to see what the hell is going on, and she whispers in his ear to relax and trust her. She reaches around to begin giving him a hand job while she starts working what he thinks is her finger up his ass. This is where I had to stop Mark and process the information he gave me. “This guy’s getting beeds up his ass?” I asked.

Mark paused and looked at me funny, “Yes he is.”

So Sebastian begins feeling something going in his ass other than this girl’s finger. It is then that he realizes she is inserting anal beads up his ass and Sebastian has never had a woman do this to him but there he is standing there naked with this beautiful woman who is also naked so he’s at a loss for words. After she gets all twenty-five beads where she wants them, she turns him around and says, “Okay, tell me what you want to do.”

Sebastian seeing the opportunity for what it was takes the high road and fucks this girl all five ways from God’s day. It’s the best most intense mind blowing sex Sebastian could ever imagine but the beads are becoming a bit uncomfortable and he tells the girl they are making him uncomfortable and she screams that she is coming so Sebastian goes right back to work to finish the job and right as he’s about to get his nut she reaches down to his ass and starts pulling the beads out one by one, which Sebastian said felt really good but right after he comes to his conclusion, she wraps the first few beads around her index and middle finger and gives a hard yank like she is trying to start a weed wacker.

This confuses Sebastian because he’s never had this done so he freaks out when the urge to shit is overwhelming but the girl still has her legs wrapped around him so he can’t get up. The urge is getting stronger and stronger and he can’t hold it anymore and she finally lets go of him and he rolls over but it is too late and through no fault of his own, Sebastian shits the bed.

Now the girl just lays there in her afterglow and Sebastian doesn’t think she knows what happened but he figures it is only a matter of minutes before the stench will give him away so he jumps up and grabs his clothes and goes to the bathroom and cleans himself off as quick as he can. He comes out of the bathroom and starts making a B-line for the door, he gets out to the porch before he realizes his wallet and keys are on the kitchen counter so he has to go back up to the apartment. He tries to be as quiet as possible. He grabs his wallet and keys and when he walks past the bedroom door, he looks in and sees the girl rolling all over her bed in his feces just moaning while she is pleasuring herself.

“What did Sebastian do then?” I asked, totally blown away by the story although I didn’t think it was true because Mark had never said anything before about this friend of his named Sebastian.

“He married her, what do you think he did? He fucking took off and never went back to the Church Key again. You can’t see a girl again if she breaks the Two Kuckle Rule on the first night.” Mark replied putting out his cigarette.

Now Julia and I did not get that acquainted but she did leave a purple and light pink scarf that she said she hand-made herself. She wore it while we had sex. She said the scarf was to help me keep her under control. Lovely girl, absolutely terrifying but lovely all the same.

“You’ve got to smell this scarf she left.” I said jumping up and getting another beer from the fridge and walked into my bedroom and immediately forgot why I went in there in the first place. I stood there and cracked open the beer and just stared at my room turning circles to see if anything would jog the memory. I saw the pastor’s collar and I quickly put on the black shirt still trying to figure out why I came in the room.

Mark finished his beer and set it on the coffee table and started making his way to the front door. “Guess who I saw down on Bassett making out like a couple of assholes?” Mark said as he put on his jacket.

“Who?” I asked as I tried to stay focused on why I was in my room.

“Gary and Trent.” Mark yelled back almost immediately.

“What are those two dirt tamping dinner mashers up to?” I asked.

Gary and Trent were two of the weirdest craziest people I knew besides Mitch and Mark. Gary and Trent just happened to be incredibly gay for each other. The only time they weren’t running their mouths was when they were sucking each other off. But they were really good at getting rid of drugs in a hurry which is why Mark had anything to do with them. He says he can’t stand them but he knows they are two of the very few friends he has.

“I don’t know, I didn’t talk to them. I just yelled that they were both embarrassing their parents.” Mark said as he started coughing. “Look, I don’t really need to smell this scarf.” Mark yelled between breaths.

The scarf! Goddamn it! I grabbed it and took it to the door and showed Mark. “Smell it!” I said as I held it up to his face.

Mark smelled the scarf and rolled up his sleeve and wrapped the scarf around his upper arm and started working his veins to bulge. “You think she has ever used it to shoot up?” Mark asked.

I jerked the scarf away and hung it on the hook and grabbed my jacket and my Arsenal scarf, called Mark an asshole and locked the door and we left.

Day 24 A-Clypse Cow

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 21:50:00 +0000

Day 24 in this slug they're calling an apocalypse. Actually today was fairly eventful seeing as how 2 cows got loose from a parked trailer and caused a 323 car pile up in the three west bound lanes stretching from Monona Dr. all the way back to Whitney Way. Luckily clean up was quick and easydue to a surplus in municipal funds from only receiving seven inches of snow this winter. The forty-five fender benders in the east bound lanes were all chalked up to reckless rubber necking.

Of course none of this is true but that is just how bored I am at the moment where something like that would cheer me up in the Big A-Clypse. I would catch up on politics but the rhetoric from both sides makes me queasy. Newt pulled out a predictable "stomping" in the primary in my home state of South Carolina. Its not a surprise really when you watch the beginning of the debate where the moderator asked Slimes if he cared respond to the allegations that he asked his 1st wife for an open marriage. The 1:30 of stage time he got there cost millions and well worth it. I'm sure there are people down there saying to themselves "Hey, he defended himself well!" Let them hate, as long as they fear. And let them talk as long as they wanna talk. Just give them something to talk about because they don't know what they are talking about anyway.

Speaking of not knowing what I'm talking about, if the CEO of Nerf isn't using every connection, every resource, ever masonic handshake to convince world leaders to have WWIII be an all out Nerf-War, he isn't thinking big enough. Sanctions on Iran by the dying EU and USA are going to hand down an oil embargo. Things should get interesting. If only for a break between commercials.

Another excerpt from this noose of a novel: Isthmus Coincidence & Other Mad City Strife

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 18:33:00 +0000

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

We joined the mob at Gillman. There were a few cops on horseback patrolling that one corridor. The cops gave Mark the Stink Eye when he went up and started petting one of the horses. The horse knew we were harmless but the cop on his back was watching us very intently.

I grabbed Mark and gave a wave to the officers and we made our way into the crowd. The temperature had dropped a bit but it was warm inside the mob. It was shoulder to shoulder and ass to crotch packed. There was hardly any room to walk. I was stepping all over people’s feet and people were stepping all over my feet and none of us gave it a second thought.

One guy had carved out a small territory for himself as he was standing there in a leather thong and war paint all over his body screaming, “Every single one of us is nine missed meals from murder!”

I turned to make sure I hadn’t lost Mark. He was still behind me and had somehow acquired a tambourine and some salsa shakers. Just as he handed me the tambourine, I was swallowed up by a group of girls all dressed like Strawberry Shortcake. Mark grabbed onto one of the girls in the back and held on for dear life.

We went with the flow all the way down to Library Mall where a band was jamming out covers of Van Halen and DLR. Mark being a huge David Lee Roth fan quickly went nuts when the band went into “Just A Gigilo”. He grabbed some money out of the backpack, grabbed the tambourine from me and headed for the stage.

I lost him in the crowd but found him when he emerged stage left and passed on the cash. A few moments later he was playing the tambourine dancing behind the singer. Mark startled the front man for a moment when he turned around to see Mark losing himself like a hippie in old sixties footage.

The singer held the mic up to Mark to sing the chorus but Mark just grabbed the mic and handed the tambourine over to the singer then jumped out front to lead the band. The crowd went ape shit. Mark was bouncing off the wedges and drum riser all the while never missing a beat. “Just the crowd!” Mark shouted then pointed the mic out to the crowd. The crowd responded harmoniously with, “I AIN’T GOT NOBODY.”

The band members were professionals coming right back in on cue. Mark handed the mic back to the singer in exchange for the tambourine. Mark then took a running dive off the stage and into the crowd. Once he got the fifty feet back to us, I grabbed him and the people set him down. We turned our attention back to the stage where several members of the crowd crawled up on stage and jumped off to crowd surf.

“You see Songer, just like your brother said, leaders and followers.” Mark said as he shook the tambourine in my face.

“It’s a thin line between stupid and crazy.” I replied. I had somehow lost my shakers.

“It’s the thinnest of lines, but if you are not a world shaker, then you’re just one of the shleps trying to keep his balance.” Mark responded as he lifted up a young lady’s costume to expose her bare ass. “I’d follow that anywhere.”

We had lost the group of girls we got swept up with, or rather they lost us. The vibration in the air was like a mass opiate. There was a steady buzz from the crowd as we slowly made our way up State Street. Even though I thought it was a ludicrous idea, I agreed to hit up a bar.

It took forty-five minutes to go four blocks. We ended up behind some narrow eyed idiot dressed as a giant asparagus. He was bouncing around coming up behind people and tickling their ear with a piece of asparagus. When the person turned around there was someone there dressed as Columbo taking a picture of their face, temporarily blinding them.

We ended up at the Orpheum mostly because I refuse to go into Paul’s Club or The State. I threw the backpack on the table and we sat down. “How much did we have in there?” Mark asked as he pulled out his last Leine’s and popped the top.

“We? I believe my brother gave this to me. So far, you’ve spent seven thousand dollars that wasn’t even yours.” I replied.

“You really feel it was yours?” Mark asked letting out an obnoxious belch, “You weren’t really planning on keeping that were you?”

“Well, I didn’t plan on giving it away?” I said as I grabbed Mark’s beer and took a swig.

“What would you do with all of that money?” Mark asked taking his beer back.

“I don’t know, maybe finance a revolution or two.” I shouted over the crowd. The place was packed. It had to be a fire code violation but nobody was going to say anything. Bars on State know they can make a killing on Halloween night.

The body buzz from the shrooms had planed out. The visuals were starting to occur more and more with every passing moment. I put my head down and rubbed my eyes. When I looked back up, Mark was staring at me shaking his head slowly. “Now you know what I’ve been dealing with for the last few hours.” Mark said knowing that the shit was really starting to kick in.

“I really don’t want to be inside anymore.” I heard myself say. The one comforting thought I could find was that there were people who were just drinking booze and were having a harder time than I was holding on.

“Let’s go down to the bathroom and count the rest of this money, then we will go start a revolution.” Mark said as he stood up and grabbed the bag and I followed.

We made our way downstairs to the bathroom. I grabbed a quick drink from the huge water fountain at the bottom of the steps. Mark made his way into the bathroom and rented a stall. The tile in the bathroom was as old as John McCain and just as worn out looking but twice the charm. I shouted Mark’s name so as not to go disturbing anyone else. Mark stood up and looked over the wall, “Will you straighten up and get in here, I hate counting.”

I opened the stall door and saw another message carved into the stall wall.





How fitting I thought to myself.

“I got fifty thousand here.” Mark stated, “How much do you got?”

I shuffled through one more time to double check because either my brother didn’t count it or he just doesn’t know how to count because I counting out a more substantial sum of money. With what Mark had and with what I counted out, we had two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. Not counting the money given to the clerk at the OP.

“You know, some of these could be marked.” Mark said as he flipped through the cash.

“I doubt it, but now that we know just how much we have, I’m not so sure it’s good idea we should have this.” I said as I thumbed through thirty grand.

“I have an idea how we can get rid of it and finance a little world shaking revolution of our own.” Mark said as he threw the cash back in the bag.

“What for?” I asked still thumbing the thirty grand. I was growing attached and it sickened me but it could finance a lot of traveling and gambling.

“What for? Shits and giggles, because you are you and I am me and here we are. That’s what for. You going to throw that back in here?” Mark asked referring to the cash in my hand.

“No, I think I’m going to hold onto this.” I said as I stuffed the wad down the front of my pants.

“Good thinking, no sense in going completely crazy.” Mark said as we headed back up to the bar.

Mark stopped once we got up to the top of the stairs and took out fifteen thousand dollars out and handed me the bag. He then made a direct line for the door clapping and yelling throwing up the cash in the air screaming at the people leaving to come back inside.

“You’re going to want to be a part of this people, come back in here and listen up.” Mark said as he turned around and watched the hundred dollar bills rain down on the patrons.

One patron dressed like a troll made a go for the money. “Don’t you even touch that goddamn money!” Mark yelled as he ran over and stepped on the patron’s hand.

“We are all about to participate in an exercise my associate, Cpt. DeSoto, and myself like to call, But At What Price?” Mark announced.

Mark took a moment to collect his thoughts when the dj decided to throw on another record. “You simple one tracked minded piss-elegant fuck, I just threw five thousand dollars cash on the floor and you’re going to try and play over me?”

“Why don’t you relax man, he’s just doing his job.” Some asshole dressed as Superman blurted out.

“I will give a thousand dollars to the first drunk fuck that knocks that Christopher Reeves wannabe on his ass.” Mark announced pulling a wad of cash from his pocket.

Superman laughed then got blindsided by some woman dressed as Rainbow Bright. Superman was down for the count. It was not that weird of a thing to witness but the shrooms were starting to affect the perception of my so-called reality.

The reality was that I had consumed a fair collection of mind-altering drugs, not that big of a stretch. We were almost run off the road by some Cottage Crawl whose car we parked on the railroad tracks but lessons have to be learned and that can rarely be helped. Mark managed to piss a lot of people off, again nothing out of the ordinary.

But the fact that I was standing in the middle of the Orpheum totally gripped with drugs holding nearly a quarter of a million dollars in a book bag just didn’t seem real but what passes for real these days anyway? War? Disasters? Terror? It’s just Halloween.

Mark strolled up to Rainbow Bright, counting out ten one hundred bills then handed it to the young lady.

“That’s the kind of cooperation we’re looking for Punky Brewster!” Mark bellowed.

“I’m Rainbow Bright.” The girl said counting out her prize money.

“Don’t be so naïve, you are nothing more than an enslaved mind that can be bought and sold on the whims of greedy white men.”

Mark snatched the money back from Rainbow Bright, pulled out his lighter and started the money on fire then threw the burning wad of cash down over the rail. One burning dollar landed in a woman’s cleavage. She cursed.

“I would like a volunteer, a young lady please or a young man. That would illustrate my point quite clearly. Anyone?” Mark hollered echoing over the whispers. “Certainly there is a young lady who would like to make a quick two thousand dollars.”

The room was completely quiet except for the whispers then someone spoke out.

“I’ll do it!” Announced a young Asian girl dressed as Charlie Chaplin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m ashamed of all of you except this little lady with bigger balls than any man in this room, excluding Cpt. DeSoto and myself.” Mark bellowed as Chaplin made her way down the steps.

“Hurry this the fuck up, I don’t want to quit drinking too long.” Chaplin said as she hit the bottom of the steps.

“Don’t worry darling, this will be all over before you know it.” Mark said grinning and putting his arm around her like a game show host.

“I will pay this young lady four thousand dollars to go down right here on any man or woman of her choosing in this room.” Mark announced as he started counting out four grand.

The crowd began to hum as people started laughing and pointing at each other. Some people thought that it was some stupid reality show and kept screaming for us to tell them where the cameras were. Mark made an example of a non-believer by paying someone five hundred dollars to knock the poor bastard out.

Nobody was really paying any attention to Chaplin as she was scoping out the crowd. Suddenly she lifted her arm and pointed to some guy wearing an Alf mask. I suppose the crowd really didn’t think the girl was going to do it and they all fell silent when she raised her arm.

“Who you pointing at Chuck?” Mark asked putting his arm to his forehead shielding his eyes.

“That guy in the Alf mask, I’ll blow him right here for four thousand dollars.” Chaplin announced as she grabbed the wad of cash out of Mark’s hand.

The crowd was still silent. The guy in the Alf mask stood there not moving a muscle. “He ain’t going nowhere near that bitch!” Mrs Alf proclaimed. She wasn’t wearing an actual Alf mask but she made it clear Alf was with her.

“Sweety, I will pay you five thousand dollars to watch.” Mark declared.

Mrs. Alf grabbed Alf by the arm and pulled him behind her as she stomped down the stairs.

The crowd mistook her stomping as anger as it looked like she was leaving. I’m sure at about halfway down the stairs she believed she really was going to leave, but her boozed up rational part of the brain took over and she quickly came to reason.

“Five thousand dollars, in my hand, right fucking now!” She announced as she stood with her hand out at staring at Mark. The crowd went nuts!

Mark smiled at the crowd and raised his hands getting everyone involved. Then quickly dropped his hands and put his finger up to his mouth telling everyone to quiet down.

“Okay people, in order for this to be truly special, it cannot end up on the internet in thirty seconds so please, I want everyone to please keep your cameras and cell phones in your pockets. I want you all to exercise some discipline for now and overcome the horrible affliction that is Text Mail.” Mark pleaded.

There were some people snickering but that stopped quickly when Mark announced that if everyone played by the rules and agreed not to record or photograph this historic event in any way, he would pay everyone a thousand dollars. Being a true democracy, everyone complied. Shortly after, the crowd went nuts as Chaplin got down on her knees reached down Alf’s brown tights and pulled out his rump splitter then got down to business

The crowd was whistling and yelling at the spectacle taking place. Mark yelled along with them as he made his way back towards the bar where I was standing with the rest of the money. “There is a reason God or whoever won’t allow me to be filthy rich.” Mark yelled as he went behind the bar and poured himself a pint of Wisconsin Amber spilling it all over him as he attempted to chug it.

Mark threw the glass in the garbage can. “You ready to get out of here?” Mark asked as he stood up on the bar to look over the crowd.

“What about paying all these people a thousand dollars?” I asked totally expecting us to pay the people.

“What, are you fucking stoned?” Mark yelled over the crowd. Everyone was cheering on the performers. Alf’s girlfriend was even walking around like one of Bob Barker’s girls from The Prize is Right.

“I think these people are expecting to get paid.” I said as a few of them were directing their attention towards us.

“Fuck them! We have illustrated our point. If there is anything worse than someone who will do anything for money, it’s that someone who does something because he or she was promised money.” Mark said as he grabbed me and we made our way down the hall towards the Stage Door.

The carpet along the Orpheum hall was tricky to maneuver through. Every time I took a step, my shoes made that annoying velcro white noise scratch. I asked Mark if he could hear my shoes but he was too busy jumping and knocking out the lights along the wall with his shoe.

We were just getting around the corner when we heard, THERE THEY ARE! Followed by a roaring wave of humanity.

We sprinted to the Stage Door and burst out of the building onto East Johnson. To our left was State Street and eighty thousand drunk fatheads. To our right was a parking garage, perfect scene for a mob beating.

We opted to go left and blend in with the crowd, making it 80,002 drunk fatheads. We strolled quickly down the sidewalk, scurrying towards the barricade that consisted of four cops on horseback. We acknowledged their presence with a nod and filtered in with the madness.

We were about five bodies in when we turned and saw about forty people come rushing out onto the street from the Stage Door, screaming like idiots as they ran towards the crowd.

Their yelling got the attention of the four horsemen who turned away from the crowd and towards the angry mob. The horses knew what was up before the officers did when all four of them in unison kicked up on their hind legs in a panic. Two officers fell on their backs. The mob barely noticed. They had their eyes on us the whole way.

Mark grabbed me and pulled me further into the crowd. The adrenaline kick sparked up the mushrooms nearly ten fold. For the next few moments, I really believe I was walking through people. I am a ghost now.

I had already lost Mark, which at the time, I didn’t really care about. I had made it into the Madness. All you could see was nothing but weirdness wearing a big smile in every direction. There was a guy dressed as Tarzan hanging from a street lamp outside of The City Bar. It took three cops twenty minutes to get him down.

I was still moving through people. Every ten people I would see a half-naked woman or man, sometimes I couldn’t tell what it was. A fog could be seen hovering over the entire crowd because there was so much heat generated in the cold autumn night.

Women on balconies were flashing their tits for beeds that were tossed up by drunken frat heads dressed as John Travolta. There were bands playing at both ends of State Street. The band at Library Mall was finishing up their encore.

I caught sight of the Asparagus and Columbo. By now they had gathered some believers who had been convinced that asparagus in the ear is the funniest thing ever. I decided to follow them because I liked the pace they were making. I quickly befriended a young lady in the line. She handed me a piece of asparagus and I was off to my own little planet.

Asparagus in the ear offends nobody. Some people would make a mean face when they turned around but it quickly dissolves when you are waiving asparagus in front of their face and then hand it to them. The mood was a good one but the energy was changing by the minute. There seemed to be more shoving going on instead of just leaning on one another.

It doesn’t have to be Halloween for strange things to happen on State Street. I have seen some weird things anywhere from some guy handcuffed and strapped to a backboard puking into a puddle of his own blood outside of The Pub to people in bare feet running for their lives as they’re being chased by cops to skateboarders receiving citations for skateboarding.

I know what causes the shift in energy. It’s called Bar Time. A Madisonian can always expect to hear sirens and see flashing lights from 1:45am to 3:00am. I myself do my best to stay clear of them. I asked someone for the time. They said it was 2:37am.

I walked quickly through the crowd but I could no longer feel my feet on the ground. I went about half a block before I looked down to see I was walking on people’s feet. Nobody seemed to mind. I walked faster and after about another block, I was walking on nothing but knees, another few feet and I was standing on the shoulders of the crowd. I used the opportunity to see where the asparagus and gypsy went but I couldn’t make them out.

A giant walked up to me out of nowhere. He was looking me in the eye so he had to nearly be twelve feet tall. “Jesus Christ shitting these Intelleshrooms demand respect.” I said out loud as I adjusted the book bag on my back. “If you’re real, do you think you could help me?”

“How could I help you?” The Giant scoffed. He was dressed as the Tin Man.

“Let me sit on your shoulders so that I could get up high enough to find a friend of mine.” I insisted.

“You won’t find him in this mess, but I’m sure he would find you if he saw you sitting on my shoulders.” The Giant stated.

“I know that’s what I said.” I yelled. Someone was trying to tie my shoelaces together. I was kicking at the people when the giant lifted me and put me on his shoulders.

On Tin Man’s shoulders I could see that people, drunk people, were starting to over flow into the streets from the bars. There was still a festive mood but it was being interrupted more and more with physical altercations.

“Get the fuck down from there you moron, they’ll arrest you for sure!” Mark hollered. I looked down and spotted him right underneath the lamp pole I was straddling.

Uh oh, I thought, “Reality is turning on me!” I yelled as I quickly made my way down the lamp pole as fast as I could.

I got to the bottom and jumped down the last few feet onto the street. I wasn’t even standing up straight when I felt the Grip of the Law on my neck. I jerked around and the cop almost ripped the book bag wide open, explanations be damned! I was waiting for the right moment to break away. He was dragging me over to the curb when a vicious fight broke out between three girls. The cop couldn’t resist and let me go to “assist” with the girl on girl on girl action.

Mark came up behind me and grabbed me the same the way the cop did, this time I turned around and threw a punch, busting Mark’s nose. “Goddamn, will you chill the fuck out?” Mark yelled as he wiped the trickle of blood from his nose.

We hopped back into the action and made our way up to the One Hundred block. That is the staging area for the riot police. It was nearly three in the morning and people seemed to be finding it difficult to leave.

We walked by the window of a lingerie shop and I swear a mannequin was performing cunnilingus on the other mannequin in front of it. I thought I was just tripping but then a crowd began to gather around the store window. People were yelling and cheering for more from the girls and I was having a more and more difficult time figuring out whose trip I was currently experiencing. Did I project something with my mind and people saw it manifest?

Mark elbowed me and motioned up towards the square. The police were gearing up for the State Street Sweep. They were all in riot gear with armor, shields, and facemasks. “Let’s fall back and get ready for the surge.” Mark said as we took off walking back towards Library Mall.

We made sure the stand in the middle of the street. The crowd was beginning to thin out a little bit but the Law began their Halloween Parade. The officials say they hate seeing “unruly behavior” on State Street which may be true. But they also love busting out that riot gear to make sure you know how your tax dollars are being spent.

Leave the bars open until six, Darwin’s Theory will take over. Let the people drink themselves to a stupor and crawl home drunk. But it’s no fun to gear up to fight a harmless drunk who is too tired to put up a fight. But I’m sure it is a blast to break out the blackjacks and kevlar to inspire that fear control.

We winded down to the intersection of Gorham and State then stopped. The Blue Line was already marching down State forcing everyone to retreat towards Library Mall. That pushes everyone into a virtual dead end. People were shouting and gesturing to the police as they made their way down block by block.

“How much money do we have left?” Mark said as he lit up a smoke and studied the people venting at the cops.

Nobody really wanted to do any damage to anything, maybe some jackasses do but for the majority I would say are just there to be wild. The very sight of riot gear inherently incites the rioting. It’s a show of aggression. The best way to combat aggression is with a distraction, love. Or the love of money.

I pulled the bag off my shoulder and knelt down and started counting. I quit counting after a hundred and fifty thousand. “Probably around 200 I think.” I said as I stood back up then swung the book bag back over my shoulder.

“Then it is time to bust our guts, get our nuts, and blow their minds.” Mark said as he spun me around and headed towards Library Mall. He was pushing me along when he went into the book bag and pulled out a wad of hundreds and discreetly handed to me. Then he grabbed two hands full of cash for himself, “When I say go, start littering the street with cash baby!” Mark chuckled as we maneuvered through the crowd.

We went about another fifty feet when Mark gave the order. We were right in front of Nadia’s. “Now!” Mark shouted then tossed the cash up into the air. It took a brief moment for the people to realize what was happening. But they caught on really quick when Mark threw two more wads of hundreds into the night air.

I grabbed the first hot girl and planted a huge face suck kiss on her. She jerked away and spit at me, which I found rude. I thought surely giving away free money entitles one to a brief public make-out session. I handed her a stack of money which she threw back in my face.

The crowd gathering around us began to attract the focus away from the cops, which they obviously didn’t like because they are wearing their riot gear and they look cool in it.

The scene reminded me of feeding brim bread at the end of our dock back home. It was an absolute feeding frenzy. It was quite amusing to watch people dressed as clergy, hookers, firemen, Tarzan, and some smurfs all pushing and clawing their way through the crowd grabbing as much cash as possible. Money affects you all.

I gave a few handfuls of cash to some girls and then instructed them to throw the cash in the air. They each started counting it. They each had about ten g’s in their hands.

“Is this real money?” One of them asked me.

“None of this is real!” I replied and then threw about twenty grand into the night air. The other girls took their cues and did the same with huge smiles on their faces as thousands of dollars floated down around us. I handed the bag to one of the girls and told her to not stop throwing it until it was all gone.

I was watching Mark throw wads of cash into the air while keeping an eye on the Blue Line closing in on the sweepstakes give away. Suddenly Mark disappeared. I looked in every direction and couldn’t spot him. Then someone grabbed my arm and jerked me down to the pavement. It was Mark and he handed me a mask that was lying on the ground. “Put this on and let’s get the hell out of here!” Mark yelled as he slid his hockey mask over his face and gave me the thumbs up.

I threw on the mask, it reeked like vomit and I almost puked myself as I followed Mark as we headed towards Library Mall and the Union. It was probably a good idea not to be waiting around when the cops started detaining and questioning citizens about who started throwing out large sums of cash that just happened to be cash from a statewide bank robbing spree.

We sprinted until we got to the Union and Langdon Street. Apparently news had spread fast because people were running back towards State Street. The cops were yelling over the loud speaker by this time, or at least I thought that’s what I heard.

We put in record pace as we bolted up Langdon making our way to James Madison Park to regroup and come up with a game plan. The mushrooms were firing off again. It truly is better to give than to receive.

We slowed down once we were overlooking James Madison Park from the west. The building to the left is where a kind woman, who happened to be a lawyer, worked. She is one of the few people that had actually made an attempt to return my phone to me after she found it somewhere on the street. Even lawyers can be good people.

Mark was ahead of me as we cut down the hill by the basketball courts. Mark lost his footing for a moment then proceeded to roll down the hill end over end before composing himself just in time to run it out at the bottom. Once he was able to stop he turned around with an amusing puzzled look on his face. I knew exactly what he was wondering.

“Yes.” I said as I made my way down the hill.

“Yes what?” Mark replied scratching his head. He managed to crack the hockey mask he had on his head.

“Yes that just happened, you just rolled down that hill head over heals.” I said as I walked passed him.

“You saw that huh?” Mark said inspecting his mask upon throwing it in the trashcan along with his wallet and watch. “I have too much stuff.”

I stopped once I got to the sidewalk on the shoreline of the lake. The lights along the bank were turned off. The smell of rotting carp became somewhat overwhelming. I heard a sloppy sounding thud behind me followed by a smack on the water surface about twenty feet out.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust but then I heard the same thud followed by something splashing in the water. There were two more before I looked back at Mark and saw him drop kicking dead carp that washed up on shore somehow.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled out. There was a group of some sort playing ultimate frisbee in the dark. The two teams were wearing glow in the dark headbands, and wrist and ankle bands. It was Team Commie in the red versus Team Clueless in the Blue. The frisbee was glowing bright green.

“Quit watching those tulips frolic about and help me!” Mark yelled as he drop kicked another carp.

I strolled back over as I heard a crunch from the field followed by a loud pop, then moaning and some screaming.

“What are you doing you lunatic?” I asked as a girl from the field yelled at someone to call an ambulance.

“These fucking carp are committing suicide, help me save them from themselves.” Mark yelled, as he stood poised like a goalie defending a penalty kick.

“You’ve lost your fucking mind, there is an ambulance on the way, you want me to hook you up with a ride? EMT’s are an understanding people.” I said laughing to myself when a twenty-inch carp came flying out of the water hitting Mark right in the chest. He handled it like Tony Meola in his glory days at UVA.

“Holy fucking shit!” I screamed choking with laughter. Mark wrestled with the fish as it fought to get free.

“What, you didn’t believe me?” Mark said standing up with the fish squirming, “When I tell you that carp are committing suicide, you best believe it is happening! Now help me with this fucker!”

I took the fish from Mark when another one hit him right in the head knocking him out cold. “That just fucking happened!” I yelled as I threw the fish back in the water. The missile carp that hit Mark was flopping madly and covering a lot of ground. It was halfway across the park when I checked on Mark.

I gave him a few slaps but he was non-responsive. The ambulance showed up for the injured hippie. I thought for a moment about going to get help from them but the idea of trying to explain why my friend was unconscious seemed too much like work.

“You’re going to have to rely on Darwin.” I said as I slapped Mark on the face again.

He opened his eyes very slowly when he looked at me. “Tell me I didn’t just get knocked out by a flying carp.” Mark said as he rubbed his head.

“It quite possibly could’ve been a northern but it scurried off too quickly, sorry.” I said as I helped Mark to his feet.

Just as soon as Mark got his wits about him, something started happening in the water. There was a lot of intense thrashing water for about thirty seconds then everything went still. The air suddenly got warmer and the smell of rotting fish saturated the air. I looked back over at the ambulance as the EMT’s were loading the hipster up in the unit.

“As soon as that ambulance is out of sight, I’m bolting for the street.” Mark said quietly as he inched his way into the grass away from the water’s edge.

We both froze when we heard the low rumbling groan of some ancient death that shook the ground and made the water seem to boil. Suddenly the water shot straight up out of the lake. Whatever it was that came out looked like a creature out of some bad Korean horror film.

“That thing doesn’t speak the King’s English!” Mark yelled as he fell trying to run.

“I’m out of here!” I said as I bolted down the sidewalk along the shoreline.

Mark went screaming towards the hippies that had resumed their game after the ambulance pulled away. “Grab your dicks and run!” Mark yelled as he hit Gorham and headed east.

It was the three hundred block of Paterson before I stopped running. My nostrils were burning with the smell of rotting Lake Mendota seaweed. My lungs felt like they were going to pop at any moment, which was okay with me because I could use the rest.

I stopped and rested on a stoop. The noise of the world had been turned way down and all I could hear was the sound of my pulse racing and blood boiling in my ears.

Day 9 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 18:12:00 +0000

Well, Day 9 of this pathetic excuse for an apocalypse has personally been the worst day yet so far. After a long night of violent vomiting fighting a severe case of food poisoning, I wake up to realize that Names are just words and Everything is Just Words.

Laws, statutes, penal code are just words from a legalese language that sounds a lot like English but mean something totally different. Did you know your name is hearsay in the eyes of the court? How's that? Did you give yourself the name you have? Then how do you know its your name? Can you say with no doubt that you were born on the day in the year indicated on your birth certificate? Is that you on that Social Security card w/the number you were assigned? Slaves and prisoners are assigned numbers too.

I've tried fairly hard in the last few years trying to get my name out there so I can have a go at this stand-up career. Its hard, even when you run for mayor. The reason is, people just do not give a sloppy shit. But of course some dingbat here in Madison legally changes his name to Beezow Doo-Doo Zopitty Bop Bop, then gets arrested down at the park for smoking a joint or jerking off or whatever and then BOOM! Got that silly ass name trending on Twitter and an article on Drudge Report. People are fucking dumb and they love it! I will give BeeZow credit, its all in the name. Just give it a name!

Jay-Z and Beyonce just had their little fuck trophy and allegedly rented out the newborn ward for "security reasons" and other new parents couldn't see their new trophies. Then they name the shit machine Blue Ivey Carter, which has to be one of the worst names a celebrity has named their kid since Gwyneth Paltrow named her brat Apple.

I've never wanted kids but now I do so I can name them something ridiculous like Weeping Willow Sam or Debbie Downer Greenbush or Blue Oyster Kate. Regardless, names mean nothing, they are just words, thanks for reading these words strung together in a 5 minute food poisoned rant!

Day 6 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 18:53:00 +0000

Its day six of this silly proposed apocalypse and the people really seem to be keeping it together. The weather is surprisingly pleasant for this time of year. You will not hear me complain of weather in the apocalypse.

The highways and roads are still buzzing with traffic which means most people haven't clued in on the fact that the world as we know it is ending. I think if somehow, money or the concept of money didn't exist, people would just go about their days. Work, eat, sleep, shit, shave, fuck, shower, fight, yell, and whine until it was time to get up and do it all over again. Overall, I think the people would be happier that way. No money, just a chip that had units on it that was managed by some all seeing satellite in the sky. Handling money is exhausting! That is why rich people always look older than they really are. Warren Buffet is only 31 years old.

Look at Prince William, been a billionaire his whole life, only 12 years old, looks like he's a balding 35 year old. Its gotta be stressful being insanely wealthy. All that traveling, all those laughs atop penthouses in the south of France. I'm jealous of all that time! All that time they get for themselves to do whatever they want. That is what the true currency is, your time on this planet.

Seems a fitting place to sign off, dont wanna waste anymore of your time here, start getting charged for it. Thanks for your time while it was free.

Excerpt from Chapter 11 of my novel Isthmus Coincidence & Other Mad City Strife

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 01:37:00 +0000

I inadvertently sprinted up the steps towards the capitol building, the idea of having to suck off forty two transvestites was making my stomach turn a bit so I stopped to catch my breath. I was breathing hard, I actually couldn’t hear anything other than me breathing.

When I looked up I realized that the entire mob of people walking up and down State Street had completely stopped in their tracks and they were all staring up in my direction. I turned around and stared up at the Dome and thought maybe there was someone threatening to jump. The Dome was lit up but it was nearly impossible to see the entire structure through some white fog. The kind of fog that makes the Capitol disappears when coming into town on John Nolan.

I couldn’t make out if there was anyone up on the roof. But the building was moving, not really moving but more like shifting in place. The large marble and stone blocks were slowly shifting past each other like a puzzle. The hundred foot columns were rotating at about thirty revolutions a minute. I know this because Bud said, “Those fucking columns are rotating at about thirty revolutions a minute.”

The stones and columns moving sounded like gravel being laid or a bunch of sand being dumped out from a dump truck. I was surprised I could hear the State flag whipping around in the wind up on the building. Forward.

I turned back around and had forgotten about the eighty thousand people staring up in my direction. It was a weird sight to and I wasn’t sure if they were looking up at me or they all got a hold of something really good. I figured I should do something so I waved hello. They all waved back in unison but it wasn’t a happy hello wave. It seemed more like a concerned sad wave good-bye.

I followed Bud to the lower level entrance on the West Side. “How are we going to get in this place?”

“The West entrance is secretly left open when Halloween falls on a Friday.” Bud said sitting down and scratching behind his ear with his hind leg.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter, just open the door.” Bud barked as he sat by the door patiently.

I walked up to the big oak door and grabbed the brass handle and gave a hard pull that was completely unnecessary. The door opened with such ease that I slammed it hard against the wall behind it and that is when the building stopped shifting and the columns quit spinning.

We walked in through the corridor that leads to the West Gallery. The place smelled like a field trip. I don’t know if government has a certain kind of odor because the inside of the Madison Capital building smells just like the inside of the Capital building in Columbia, South Carolina. Or maybe they have contracts with the same cleaning supplies distributor.

“Why does that door get left unlocked every time Halloween falls on a Friday.” I asked as we walked slowly in the dark. I couldn’t tell if Bud was still with me because I couldn’t hear his over grown toenails dragging on the marble floors. Then Bud spoke.

“It’s the one night all the ghosts from legislative past can come in and pretend to do their job like they did when they were alive.”

“That’s pretty funny.” I chuckled

“It’s whatever it is.” Bud said as we turned to head up the stairs to the second floor. When we got to the second floor everything was a little bit brighter as we walked through the gallery out to the rotunda. Before we got out to the rotunda Bud suddenly stopped and his ears pricked up like he heard something.

I stopped and didn’t make a sound. The place was dead silent. The kind of silence astronauts’ talk about when they say they can hear their blood flowing through their veins. It’s the type of silence that burns the ears because they are starving for sound the way the lungs crave oxygen. Bud didn’t move a hair.

“What is it, see a squirrel?” I whispered.

“Shut the fuck up you stupid stinkfinger! Listen!” Bud snapped back.

I stopped laughing and after about another thirty seconds of silence, I heard it. It sounded like giggling but not normal blissful giggling. It was more like snickering but it wasn’t human. “What in the hell is that goddamn noise.” I whispered.

“Just walk out there very slowly.” Bud lightly growled back as he started slowly walking out to the rotunda in that intense border collie crouch.

I followed him out trying to stay close to the wall. As I got to the rotunda and the ceiling opened up under the dome, the snickering and laughing got exponentially louder. The entire rotunda was cast under a light orange glow. The laughing seemed to be coming from every direction, out of both the East and West galleries as well as the North and South. As my eyes adjusted to the light I realized that the creepy snickering was coming from the Badger statues at the end of each gallery.

“What in the hell are they laughing at?” I asked keeping my back against the wall.

“Slowly walk over to the wall and peak over the edge and look down to the first floor.” Bud replied keeping that border collie stare locked in on the Badger statue in the North Gallery.

I slowly crept over to the wall and the badger snickering was getting more boisterous. I got to the wall and stood on my tiptoes to peak over the edge. I got a little closer to the wall and the snickering was turning into muffled laughter. I finally got close enough to look over the edge. The Badgers couldn’t hold their laughter any longer and let it all out when I looked down and saw some twenty or thirty people standing in small clusters shaking their fingers and disagreeing with each other. Some were in modern clothing, others were in garments that appeared to be from the 18^th century.

The laughter was so loud I couldn’t really tell if they were actually saying anything or not. Their motions were getting more and more flamboyant. James Madison was shaking his finger in someone’s face but I couldn’t tell who it was. The person pushed Madison and James drew his sword and the crowd all froze and looked on in shock. I was shocked as well, here was a man wielding a weapon in a government building and nobody was stomping the shit out of him. That happens when people are so selfish with their own affairs that it prevents them from taking a stand.

The man who James Mad City was holding his sword to didn’t look too worried. He looked up at me and smiled then made a play for the sword but MadCity was too quick and pulled away and lunged forward driving the sword through the man all in one motion.

The crowd went into a panic but there was no sound. They all just started scrambling back into the shadows. James pulled the sword out of the individual and they both just stood there looking at each other forever and a day. Then both of them turned their backs to each other and they each walked back into the darkness and the laughing from the Badgers quieted back down to a light giggling. “What the fuck was that all about?” I asked

“That is the guy we have to talk to?” Bud said as he trotted over to the East Gallery to a bust statue of Robert Lafollette.

“I’m not talking to a goddamn statue.” I said as I walked over and stood by Bud who was just staring at the head of Fighting Bob. I’m tripping, I’m not crazy.

“I would give it a shot if I were you, may be your only way back.” Bud said as his attention was drawn to the annoying giggling and snickering of the Badgers.

“Only way back to what?” I asked stepping in front of Bud turning my back to Fighting Bob.

“Only way back to what you know.” Bud said looking me dead in the eye.

What in the hell is that suppose to mean? “Fuck you!” I said, I’ll be fucked and goddamned if my dead dog is going to be the one that has to guide me through some weird drug induced psychotic episode, I can go crazy by myself.

I turned to head for the door and I was halfway around the rotunda when the people from downstairs began to appear out of the West, North, and South galleries upstairs. But it wasn’t the same people. These forms seemed more proud and they weren’t white like the weirdos downstairs. They all seemed to be glowing red and orange and all their faces were wearing blank expressions, like they were looking at me for answers.

I turned and looked at Bud who was still standing in front of the statue of Lafolette. “Who are these jerk-offs?” I asked

“Those poor sons-a-bitches are the overly proud.” Bud said looking past me and at the glowing figures.

“And where are they right now?” I asked looking back at the proud.

“I don’t think they know, but I can tell you where they aren’t.” Bud barked.

“Alright.” I said, “I’ll play your little game, where aren’t they?”

“They aren’t or will never be where you could be if you just trusted me and talked to Fighting Bob.” Bud growled. Then I heard what sounded like large rocks falling to the floor. I looked up and the Badgers were not laughing anymore.

The one in the West Gallery had both of it’s front legs broken free from the building and then the back two legs broke free from their binds and the West Badger scurried down the wall and jumped into the floor, landing and cracking the marble floor under its momentum and weight.

The glowing figures looked at the Badger in the West gallery, then looked back at me with those same blank panicked faces. I just shrugged. “What’s going on here?” I asked as I turned to Bud. The giggling had started again as the Badgers from the South, North, and East Galleries broke free from their mounts, each of them landing with the same velocity as the first one did. The building seemed to be coming apart.

“Is this supposed to be symbolic or something?” I asked like it was a joke, refusing to believe what I was actually seeing.

“You’re about to see the power of symbols, this damn place is loaded with them.” Bud said looking up at the top of the Dome.

I was starting to feel a bit more nervous. The Badgers were beginning to take on a more demonic look as they approached me from all sides. Their eyes were locked in on me as they moved slowly past the glowing Proud who stood stone still, each with a look from Hell on their face. “Okay, so what now?” I asked keeping an eye on each Badger.

“I don’t know, all I know is that I was suppose to bring you here to talk to Bob.” Bud said as he showed some teeth to the Badgers as their laughter got louder and louder. It was almost deafening. It sounded like every hyena on earth was out there in the shadows and hallways chuckling at my plight.

“So what the fuck do I do?” I yelled to Bud over the laughter, it was so loud and consuming that it didn’t sound like laughing anymore. Just a wave of noise that was so loud I was beginning to lose my balance.

“I said I don’t know, start up a conversation with him!” Bud barked back as he turned and faced the Badger that was coming up behind him.

They were steadily closing in on us. I backed up until I bumped into the statue and I nearly tipped it over. I grabbed it, holding it steady as the Badgers made their final approach, down in their attack stance, eyes directly on me and Bud. I turned the statue of Fighting Bob so that it was facing me and quickly said, “How do you feel about the minimum wage being raised?”

The head suddenly looked straight at me and replied, “Knock that goddamn chattering and laughing off and I’ll tell you about my views on the minimum wage increase, I think its goddamn brilliant!”

I almost shit my pants but the Badgers were even more horrified, they turned and hauled ass back up to their mounts and suddenly the entire structure was dead silent again. “Now that is better, now we can have a conversation.” Fighting Bob said.

“How did you do that?” I asked looking at the badgers as they became more stone like.

“I’m Fighting Bob goddamn it! I can do anything I want! Who in the hell are you?” Bob replied with a slight chuckle of his own.

“I’m one sad sorry fucker that got what he deserved.” I said.

“Never show your weakness you cuntock, never apologize for anything!” Fighting Bob said looking me straight in the eye, I think.

“Well sorry or not, here I am.” I said. I looked at Bud to see if he had an answer.

“We need your help, some advice.” Bud said.

“Holy Nine Day Blues, did that dog just fucking talk?” Bob said, he would’ve jumped back if he could, instead his eyebrows almost went all the way back on his head to his neck.

“Yeah, his name is Bud.” I said as I introduced Bob to Bud.

“What advice do you freaks want from me?” Bob said flatly.

“We need to get over the Isthmus.” Bud said as I looked down at him puzzedly.

“The isthmus? Who needs to get over the Isthmus?” Bob asked

“Songer does, its that time.” Bud explained.

“I never understand why the few of you insist on rushing things.” Bob said shaking his head. “You have to go over to St. Raphael’s and talk to St. Christopher, he’s the guy in charge of arranging safe passage over the Isthmus.”

“St. Raphael’s burnt down a few years ago.” I said. The expression on Bob’s face was one of heartbreak.

“Bullshit! Wait, what is Minimum Wage right now?” Bob asked inquisitively.

“I don’t know, somewhere around $6.15” I replied.

“And how much is the gasoline for the automobiles?” Bob said as his eyes sharpened.

“It goes up and down, it’s been as high as 3.50$ but is around 3.09$ as of this afternoon.” I said

“Jesus Christ! Did we get bombed?” Bob asked in a panicked tone.

“Actually, sort of but now we’re just at war.” I said like it was nothing and could be shrugged off like a misplaced pocket full of change.

“Is that 3.09$ a barrel? Bob said looking down in despair.

“No, that is per gallon.” I said confused.

“Damn, no wonder you crazy yokels rush to get over the Isthmus.” Bob said like he heard his dog got ran over. “Well the only other individuals I know that could help you would be those metal dingbats.”

“And whom would that be?” I asked

“Go to 211 South Paterson, you can’t miss them. They can sort you out, it will take a little longer but the destination will remain the same.” Bob said with a creepy grin. “You have to do me a favor though.”

“Anything you want.” Bud snapped.

“I love the spot they gave me but I’d really like to look out a window for a change, something overlooking the street.” Bob said.

“I got just the spot for you Bob.” I said as I picked him up off the podium he was resting on. We made our way downstairs and out the door we came in. I perched Old Bob on the marble banister just outside the door of the capitol building that looks straight down State Street.

“Holy fuck goddamn! What is this revolt about?” Bob said as he got his first glimpse of how Madison celebrates Halloween in the 21^st century.

“It’s Halloween Bob. They aren’t rioting, well, not yet, this is a giant party.” I said as I steadied him on the banister

“Unbelievable! Okay, leave me here. Good luck on your trip over the Isthmus, keep those damn dingbat birdbrains focused or you will be here forever.” Bob said as his eyes just glazed over at the sight of eighty thousand people running wild in the street completely shit-faced drunk.

We walked back into the Capital building through the West entrance and then walked through the rotunda out of the East entrance the Badgers were stone still and not making a solitary sound. Bob said that I had to drink from the gold water fountain. I found it back in the corner and took a long drink. The water was glowing a light blue.

As we walked through the revolving doors it felt like time was starting to catch back up, or maybe it was just the rush of sound that came thundering back. Bud lead as I followed. We were walking by people in costume but not a single one seemed to be aware that I was walking straight at them. One after the other just bumped into me and kept right on walking as if nothing had happened.

After about eight or nine pairs of shoulders ran into mine, I stopped apologizing and started throwing stiff shoulders into every passer by. Whether it was man woman or child, every single person got their lick. I even through an elbow or two at some people that looked like they could handle it. Nothing.

We were on the corner of East Wash and South Paterson. I looked back at the Capitol four blocks in our past and it was still there in that gigantic white glow. Fighting Bob said that we were to stand on the corner of Paterson and East Washington. We had to wait until the stoplight on Paterson turned from green to yellow, then we were to step off the sidewalk into the crosswalk making sure both feet were inside the lines. Then when the light turned red, we stepped back onto the sidewalk.

The No-Walk signal started to flash and we looked up and the light was green. I looked back at the No-Walk signal and it had stopped blinking. I looked up at the light and it turned yellow and Bud and I stepped into the crosswalk. There was no traffic and the light turned red and we stepped back up on to the sidewalk and nothing really seemed to change.

Why was I surprised, I was following my dead dog around and listening to a statue. My doubts began to fade away when I looked back at the Capitol building to see that it had lost it’s traditional white glow. Now it looked like someone had switched the bulbs in the spotlights and now it was glowing a deep blue.

I started to look around, things weren’t really right. The traffic lights were now blinking purple for green, pink for yellow and brown for red. Bud and I looked at each other. “You notice anything different?” I asked.

“Not really, other than you look black to me now.” Bud snarled and then took off running down South Paterson.

It began to drizzle, or at least it felt like it was on my skin. I was walking with my head down and my feet seemed to be sticking to the sidewalk. I tried to look up but I couldn’t. My head felt like it wanted to detach itself from my body and go bouncing down the street.

I crossed over some railroad tracks and made it about ten to fifteen more feet before I couldn’t keep my fat head from pulling me down to the earth. I put my arms out to break my fall but they buckled under the weight of my noggin so I hit the ground nearly headfirst landing on the spot right above my forehead.

There was a quick flash of light, like when you get hit in the nose. I opened my eyes and it felt like ants were starting to feast on my retinas. I tried to sit up by way of a half-retarded lazy push up. I could get my entire body off the ground with the exception of my head. It felt like my body was on earth and my head was on Jupiter, being crushed by 500 G’s. I could do a headstand with no problem. I was stuck good!

“What in the hell are you doing?” I heard a voice ask. I couldn’t really turn my head to see who it was but I’m pretty sure it was Bud.

“Bud, is that you?” I asked

“Of course it’s me, stand the fuck up, you are embarrassing me god damn it!” Bud declared.

“I can’t get up, my head is stuck to the ground.” I muttered laughing to myself.

“It’s not stuck to the ground you sad ass son of a bitch.” Bud stated. “You’ve just lost focus.”

“Right. Focus on what?” I asked. I did a headstand so I could see if it was Bud I was talking to. Sure enough there he was sitting and shaking his head at me upside-down. “Don’t you dare judge meI”

“Focus on where you’re going. You’re not keeping up with the clip.” Bud stated.

“Okay, so how do get back to where I can keep up with this clip you speak of?” I wanted help.

The Clip, according to Bud, is the speed in which your brain processes the information it is receiving from the senses. When the brain gets too far behind the Clip, it just starts doing whatever it wants.

Chris Robinson once said “That if you don’t go with it, then it will take you wherever it wants to go, which is cool if you have the time.” Well I didn’t have the time. I could feel the sense of urgency starting to swell up in my brain, or it could have been the effects from the headstand.

“Alright, how do I get catch back up to the Clip?” I asked as I tried to sit up again but I was pushing so hard that it felt like my shoulders were about to dislocate simultaneously.

“Well, you just need something to snap you out of the loop.” Bud explained like I had the slightest clue what he was talking about.

“Great, what do I have to do?” I asked

“It’s got to be something intense enough to shock the system for a second.” Bud announced.

I didn’t like the sound of it that but I was out of options and ideas. “Great, do what you have to do?” I stated.

“I guess I could bite you.” Bud said like he had already made up his mind that he was going to do it.

“Whoa! Whoa! Nobody is biting anyone.” I hollered. It was too late, by the time I got the last word out, I felt an incredible pain in my right buttock. Bud didn’t even hesitate and buried his teeth in the ass of the man that fed him, walked him, loved him, gave him water, bathed him, picked up his shit, threw his Frisbee and also buried him in a sweet spot with great sunsets and plenty of squirrels on a farm. Ungrateful mutt.

However, Bud’s little trick worked because I jumped up so fast and so high after he bit me that I did a complete flip in the air and landed on my back. I am BeetleJuice! “I can’t believe you bit me.” I said, trying to recover from knocking the breath out of myself.

“Not much of a choice, but we’re here.” Bud cheered.

I opened up by eyes and I was staring up at two giant metal roosters, both twenty-five feet high. They each had a neck like a baby brontosaurus, the snouts of a salt-water crocodile and the body of an over grown ostrich. Their feet looked and moved like something out of a Tim Burton movie.

I didn’t make a sound. I did not even breathe. I blinked twice to regain focus and the one on the right moved its head and looked down on me the way a giraffe would look down at its calf that was learning how to walk.

I think it rolled its eyes at me then looked at the other creature on the left. The one on the left peered down at me then moved cranked its neck lower to get a closer look at the half wit laying on his back staring up at it. The sound its neck made when it moved sounded like the clicking of a roller coaster making its slow ascent building up to the huge free-fall.

“What the fuck is your problem?” The one on the left asked. I couldn’t respond because as the hybrid bird-brain moved it’s mouth to speak small pieces of metal and rust floated down on my face and in my eyes.

“He’s fucked up!” Bud stated. Bird Right was staring up into the night sky and didn’t look like he could be bothered.

“I’d say he’s fucked up, who the hell are you?” Bird Left said as he cocked his head suspiciously at Bud before looking back at me.

“I’m his representative. He’s Cpt. DeSoto.” Bud called out.

“Cpt. DeSoto huh? What kind of name is that for a dog?” Bird Left asked.

“It’s the name of the poor bastard laying at your feet.” Bud declared.

Bird Left peered at me then cranked his head around and looked up at Bird Right who was still staring at the night sky. “Yo Raymond, quit counting stars and help me out down here.” Bird Left called out. Bird Right didn’t say a word. “Are you ignoring me on purpose?” Bird Left hissed.

“No you rude chickenhawk, I’m almost finished.” Bird Right said as he stared into deep space. His head swayed slowly and then he smiled for a moment and looked down at me. “Who we got here?” Bird Right asked.

“His representative down here says his name is Cpt. DeSoto.” Bird Left said in an unconvinced tone.

“Which one is the representative?” Bird Right asked and some more rust and dirt fluttered down into my eyes. I closed them and I could still feel flakes of rust landing on my face but I couldn’t sit up or move. I just lay there and listen as Bud explained our situation.

“I’m Bud Baylor and I’m representing Cpt. DeSoto.” Bud asserted.

“What does he need help with?” Bird Right asked.

“Captain of what?” Bird Left asked.

“Living Life.” Bud stated

“Looks like he sucks at it?” Bird Right said eyeballing a stray cat meandering by.

“Maybe but he’s here for your help.” Bud said, “Can you help him?”

Bird Left shook his head in a disapproving manner. “So this silly fuck laying down here at our feet, who can’t talk for himself is Cpt. DeSoto?” Bird Left asked.

“Who are you?” Bird Right asked looking at Bird Left puzzedly, both of them now shaking their heads and raining down thousands of flakes of rust all over my face.

“My name is Bud Baylor. I already told you that. I know this guy from the Middle.

“I’ll leave you to handle this Ray-Ray, I handled the last idiot.” Bird Left declared.

“So what do I have to so I can go back to counting galaxies?” Bird Right stated in a tired boring pitch.

“I got to help him over the Isthmus, we already talked to Fighting Bob and he sent us to St. Christopher, but since St. Rafaels’ burnt down, he sent us here to see you.” Bud tried to explain.

Bird Right sat there and took in the information Bud gave him and he shook his head then stretched out his wings and let out a huge groan and then yawned sending more rusted dust down on me. “Why would Bob send you to St. Christopher? Chris has nothing to do with the Isthmus travel, that’s strictly our turf.” Bird Right said to himself as he pulled his wings back in.

“Sounds to me like Bob is losing it.” Bird Left said staring at another stray cat that was rubbing up against his left leg.

“Whatever!” Bud said impatiently, “Will you help us or not?”

“Calm down Baylor! We can help you out so relax.” Bird Right said. “What is this guy’s name?”

“His name is Shane Songer.” Bud announced. Both Bird Left and Bird Right straightened up and looked at each other for a second.

“Isn’t Shane Songer the worthless cocky shit that set off an M80 underneath my foot a few 4^th’s back?” Bird Left asked.

“No, that was Schwartz, that little fucking philistine skipped town a while ago.” Bird Right replied.

There was another short silence as the two bird-brains sat and brainstormed. Suddenly Bird Right spoke, “Shane Songer! That’s the idiot that slaloms traffic down East Gorham on that six foot longboard the wrong way at three in the morning.”

“You’re right!” Bird Left said, “ Shane, you are one gigantic dumbass, I wouldn’t be caught dead riding against traffic any time after Bartime, we’ve been expecting you for a while.” I opened my eyes and both birds had their beaks inches from my face. Suddenly I could talk.

“What I do is my business.” I blurted out.

“I hear you’re in the business of fucking yourself up.” Bird Right stated, “I heard that buddy of yours Mark is making a name for himself.”

My past will always haunt me. “Yeah, I know him.” I admitted.

“You Hellraisers should be more careful.” Bird Right said looking down his beak at me, “I’ll help you get across the Isthmus tonight, but only once, after that you are on your own.”

I nodded and they each gently took a hand in their mouths and pulled me up until I was standing.

“You’re representative here says you are of the Baylors?” Bird Left said to confirm.

“Yeah, my mom is a Baylor.” I replied as I wiped all the rust and dirt off my face and clothes.

“Lucky for you, it just so happens you can catch a ride to where you need to go.” Bird Left uttered. I stood there staring at them waiting for an answer as they looked over me. Suddenly a trains horn sounded and Bud and I both almost dropped our batteries. I turned to see an old locomotive dragging five boxcars behind it, each with a loud party in full swing on it.

“One in the yard!” Bird Left called out into the night sky. I turned and looked back at the birds they were back in their frozen stance facing each other. I turned darting off to catch the train. Bud was right along with me.

The last cart was about to pass over Patterson when I met it. I was running right behind it and one of the passengers on board sat down on the ledge and held out their hand. I tripped once, almost eating rail but I gathered my form and reached out and took the hand. The girl’s grip was shockingly strong and she pulled me up in one motion. “Your dog ain’t gonna make this trip honey.” The little Bauknight announced.

A Bauknight is the epitome of young white trash jailbait. A girl with the Absolute Looks that is just too hot and too stupid for her own fucking good.

We’ve all met this girl, she was the cutest girl in your freshman class that although you knew for a fact she was one of the biggest sluts in school, you wished she was into you.

I looked back out the door and Bud was falling behind quickly. I was suddenly yanked to my feet by some wiry Baucus who introduced himself as Larry “The Goods” Goodman. A Baucus is the male counterpart of the Bauknight, just think of the biggest redneck, you’ll know one when you see it.

He screamed over the party, “Larry “the goods” Goodman is the name and lovin’the ladies is my game.”

I shook his hand and of course he looked like Jim Varney. “Glad to have you aboard. Times are tight and you’re gonna have to earn your keep so we’d better not waste any time, follow me to see the Major.” He said, then turned and headed towards the boxcar door.

DAY 1 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 20:18:00 +0000

Its New Year's Day 2012. In 1991 when the Bulls won their first championship, life made sense, seemingly. I was eleven that year and the Apocalypse talk was kept to just mass on Sundays. By definition we find ourselves in apocalyptic times. There are wars and talks of war. Iran is getting warmed up in the Hormuz conducting drills. 9/11 was a drill. Military is comprised of people, people make mistakes and drills get failed. Intentions aside, results remain the same.

US officially "ended" a war today by pulling out of Iraq, a country whose borders were drawn up by Winston Churchill in 19who-gives-a-fuck. Some remain skeptical on the "ending" of this war seeing as how War was never declared. In other words, The Big Baby known as the Military Industrial Complex got tired of playing with its toys and will just leave them on the playground, allowing other babies to pick them up and begin causing havoc themselves.

There is a lot of movement by the People or 99% worldwide. According to the news, which shouldn't have to be stated is somewhat censored. They show people yelling at cameras and we're told they are fighting for their right to vote when they could really be screaming that they want food and that the cost of living has shot through the roof. The average American remotely paying attention to world events is getting information that is 3rd hand at best.

Regardless, the people are pissed. But what do they want? They want their freedom. They demand their freedom. In America, GW Bush coined new American slogan: Freedom Isn't Free. It is a bizarre statement and surprisingly profound. Freedom isn't Free. Freedom isn't Free. I've often said that if Freedom isn't free, then I can't afford it.

What GW was trying to imply was that what We (Filthy Wealthy Types) are giving and telling you (Peasant citizen Types) is "Freedom" IS NOT really being Free. Thus, Freedom isn't Free. So of course there is going to be violence, terror, and grief. Nobody knows what they want. They want freedom but they don't grasp the concept of it. The average mind can't handle this ugly truth. It flat out refuses.

So what is freedom? Freedom is growing up, becoming an adult and taking responsibility for You! Growing your own food, self sustaining. You can't be much of an adult when you're running to the grocery store and exploiting the system that is spoiling you. We have developed into a nation of grown up toddlers with a driver's licenses heading straight to the Nipple of Consumption. Wasting massive amounts of energy and leaving a trail of waste, like a two year old running around the house spilling orange juice all over the carpet.

That is where the Occupy Movement is missing the point in my more than astute yet humble opinion. They aren't making any demands because there are too many demands, thus leaving you with no real strategy. The system is corrupt and crumbling. Those that are aware are making money on the way down just like they did on the way up. Complete efficiency always works best. Those cashing in on the crumbling system are not only those that created the System that babysits us all but they will abandon it quicker than a gypsy, leaving the Occupy Movement/entire citizenry looking like an orphan rebelling against a legal guardian who is on her death bed. To be disrespectful in such moments is just out of spite. Hence, riots!

So in order to avoid riots, we have to understand that protesting the system is giving the decaying system CPR when it wont do any good because all brain function has ceased. If you have a fight with a parent and that parents default response is "Because I'm your father/mother!" then the child can never win the argument. However if the child walks out of the room refusing to even engage the parent, the parent is left alone and a parent without a kid is just another grown up toddler with a driver's license.

The point being that 2012 better be the year humanity and Americans, in particular better start growing up. Here's to a New year. May it be a good one for it is the only one we have.

Remember! It's all a joke!

Everything is Just Words Are Binding

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 21:52:00 +0000

It's the 16th of December, 2011. The country is on an uninterrupted downward spiral that will soon leave a giant steaming pile of turds on all the front yards of all those American houses that haven't been foreclosed on yet.

Americans have their blinders on and their fingers in their ears screaming trying their best to ignore what awaits in the next few months. What is happening all over the Middle East and Europe is in the mail and headed for your front door.

Bill Hicks would have been 50 years old today. Its days like these I wish Bill, HST, and Carlin were still alive and I had their phone numbers. I'd give them each a ring and set up a poker game for tonight, with the highest of stakes, our thoughts, our views on the world put into words.

In the Beginning, there was the Word. Which isn't true, words are just thoughts vocalized. So in the beginning there was Thought and then that thought got vocalized into the Word.

I have a feeling that Hicks, HST, and Carlin would all agree that game has been called and those of us way out in the outfield haven't heard the game is over.

"Get your kicks!" Hunter would say as he would try to re-raise me and muscle me out of the pot.

"Everything is just words! That's the goddamn of it all!" Carlin would say, "They're using the language against the people and they dont even realize it." The People Understand but they do not comprehend the game being played.

America is pulling out of Iraq and then Israel will have Iraq's airspace to attack Iran's "nuclear facilities" because the aircrafts that Iraq bought from the US wont be available until this time next year.
"They are still arming the fucking world I see!" Hicks would say calling the hand. "Is anyone else surprised how relevant I still am?"

"I'm not Bill." I would say. "Happy Birthday!"

People take the President's word like it is gold. A yellow colored brick from the yellow brick road at best on the road to OZ to learn the "truth". Today "truth" is just a word and one word can mean many things but many words can mean nothing, especially when spoken with a forked tongue. "Change We Can Believe In" "Yes We Can!" We as in me, the President, and the Oligarchs pulling my strings.

I get dealt pocket Kings.

"What are you getting into tonight?" George would ask me.

"I'm gonna eat the rest of this THC toffee then head down to the club and maybe get a guest set."

"THC? You holding out on us?" HST would snap.

"Focus on the task at hand! Its your action!" Bill would bellow at HST.

"All in!" HST says pushing all his words into the pot.

FLOP

"ALL IN!" Bill would say offering all of his words.
" I'll gamble wich ya!" Carlin says offering his Last Words.
"I wont be intimidated by you chuckling fuckles!" I would say offering my measly collections of views, opinions, and words only to second guess myself when all three of them remind me that our Words Are Binding. I'm all in.

TURN to the RIVER

HST shows off his proud flush.
Carlins shows his full house.
Hicks shows his bigger full house.
I muck my trip Kings but enjoy the game w/Four of a kind because all my heroes are dead! But their words are binding and Everything is just Words.

I'm All In and whether your realize it or not, You're All In too. Do WE know the Game being played? Ukraine does, Spain does, Greece has no doubt. Italy and Germany are finding out and Britain is close to being a footnote in history.

George said, "Its a big club and you aint in it!"
Hunter said, "It never got weird enough for me!"
Bill said, "It's just a ride."
I say, "Its a wonderful scam. Taxpayers pay with money, the "Elite" pay with taxpayers!"

Happy 50th friend! To Love, Laughter, and Truth.

Touching Base on the Isthmus

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 23:21:00 +0000

This post is more than likely going to be some sort of whiskey, cheap vodka, stolen stash fueled kind of a rant. A rant filled with things that are on the mind at the moment that may range from ritualistic suicide to making pacts w/a devil of some kind. The vodka is going down in a disgustingly easy manner so lets get to it.

Say what you want about Lucifer, but the guy gets results! More results than the Most High Priest who likes to be called God. In God We Trust! Its on the money they have us moving around. Who is "they" Nick? "They" are anyone other than me! In God We Trust? In whose God do we trust? There are many Gods! Like HST said when he was asked if he believed in One God, "One God? HA! That's like saying there is only ONE DRUG!" There are many gods! There are gods of sin, gods of hope, gods of travel. The catholics like to call them "Saints" but they are gods.

Its Sunday, around 5:30pm local standard central time. Its dark already and the heavy weight of this winter of my discontent is making its presence known, both in the air and in the back of my mind. I am not mentally prepared for this winter. I only planned to spend one year in this frozen cow field of a winter wonderland known as Madison, Wisconsin. I say that with the utmost love for this city-town. I've made far more friends on the Isthmus than I did enemies. For the record, Ben Straka and his cousins/friends can burn in a stretched Escalade limo in the bottom of a ravine. I wish the fuck-face dingbat no harm, I'm just stating I have my reasons to not care. Everyone else, if you ever had a distaste for my existence for any reason, hey, no hard feelings. I understand, not in a courtroom admiralty sense, just on a personal level. I know!

Madison has inspired a lot in my dwelling. I only planned to spend one year here back in 2003, but 8 years later I have an unpublished novel based on Halloween in Madison, a mayoral bid, a budding stand-up comedy career, a healthy drinking habit and more stories of debauchery and all out weirdness than I can remember. I came to play!

But time is running out! Not just for me but for the entire industrial civilized world. What we are witnessing take place across the globe is the systematic and controlled demolition of the global economy. 9/11 was just the symbolic visual to what is happening to the economy now. The experience for those in Europe is all too real. Greece is in shambles, the EU is on its way out and Germany right now looks like it will be left holding the receipt which maybe they deserve, as a nation, not as a people. But it doesn't matter. What's done is done and what happens next is not anyone's guess, but rather an axiomatic list of contingencies.

The GOP candidate race is a joke! Anyone that says otherwise is trying to sell you on some sort of perverted promise they cant deliver on in the first place. If you're paying the least bit of attention, you would know that Ron Paul is the best candidate for the job but more than likely he will be discredited soon, either w/some sort of bogus association w/conspiracy nut Alex Jones or just flat out ignored and black listed by mainstream media, either way, hes under control.

Now Newt Gingrich, the little slimy bellied amphibious snot that he is, is somehow leading the GOP race. Which isn't too hard to comprehend if you watched any of Rick Perry's performances. And that is just what the GOP debates are, a two-bit performance by company men and ambitious women. Its a boy's club Michelle Bachmann and the only woman that has proven she has the cock and balls to play has been Hillary Clinton.

Get your kicks kids! The shithouse is burning and it wont be long now before you smell the smoke and step in the shit. But w/the way the powers that be are handling the "Occupy Movement" maybe sooner than you think, the Shit will step in you! Happy Holidays Europe! Keep your wits about you Spain. Germany, eh, what are you gonna do?

Dream the dreams of other men and you'll be no one's rival! -- Eddie Veder

Which is a lyrical way of saying just go along with the program. Thanks Ed!

Its time to go now........

The Long Wait

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 04:09:00 +0000

The Long Wait is now what we are experiencing. The paradigm is shifting causing the collective unconscious to wake up and start paying attention. The calm before the storm is upon us. The OCCUPY movement may be too little too late. Perhaps they can pull out the victory over the Infinite Growth paradigm. Any politician or financial adviser using the word, "GROW" is really talking about the Global Redistribution Of Wealth.

We are the only species that believes it has dominion over the planet yet we are the only species that has to "pay" to live on the planet. The price will be high and morale will be low but it all has to happen as we spiral down the slide to the next bell curve of evolution.

No society is a truly Free society if there are still Kings and Queens. The days of Royalty Reign are numbered and their day in front of the Supreme Judge will be an eye opener for their inbred frontal lobes to grasp. Their Long Wait will be a shit storm of its own.....and they deserve it.

Start growing your gardens and make nice with your neighbors. Chance favors the prepared mind! Hi Netherlands!!

Nick Hart

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 19:49:00 +0000

Turns Out, I was Right! We are all in BIG TROUBLE

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 16:01:00 +0000

Turns out, he wasn't crazy, he was just a little ahead of the curve! Let the weirdness rule and let Love reign!

Turns Out, I Was Wrong, It's Going to be OK!

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 02:39:00 +0000

Well I have always said I will be the first one to admit that I was wrong and today I admit it....Everything in this world is going to be okay. No more focusing on the negative news of the day that 99.99% of the global population ignores going about their day and handling their daily tasks.

Don't worry about the fact that there will never be an age of cheap energy ever again. That cant possibly affect my life on a daily basis in any way. I'm done trying to get people to pay attention on this bullshit silly blog that only people from Ukraine read.

I'm going to take all of the happy pills they sell on late night TV and go about pursuing my dreams and aspirations without even looking back at this failed attempt to wake people up. I will be the first to admit, I thought the People cared but I was wrong and now I have no problem admitting I was wrong. The people that dont care will get all the good things they deserve so I don't have to worry about them anymore.

I was wrong, everything is going to be okay! You will see world, everything will be just fine. Just sit back and allow everything to happen b/c in the grand scheme of things, you have absolutely no control over any aspect of your life whatsoever. Be happy with that knowledge!

EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY PEOPLE, IF ONLY FOR SOMEONE ELSE! Smile big for the cameras and make sure they spell your name right because all of you are going to be huge some day.

You, Me, and Everyone We Know is EFFIN EFF'D

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 18:28:00 +0000

You're fucked! I'm fucked! Everyone you know and have met and will meet is FUCKED! I wish it wasn't the case but it is and the time is quickly approaching when everything that everyone (Jesus, Ghandi, Bill Hicks, Carlin, Lennon, MLK, JFK, RFK) told us is going to need to be said again. Love and Love alone is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem with human existence.

The powers that Be; Royalty, Oligarchs, the Politicians, and Captains of Industry are using the people and I mean All of the People on the planet to consolidate their wealth, horde their advanced technology, and redistribute the world's resources among themselves. The only way that you and anyone you know, have met and/or will meet fits into their plan is by dying.

The Great Culling has begun and it will feed and feed and feed until the carcasses are picked clean. There will be no peace for the bones that will be left; bleaching in the setting sun of the American Empire. The cold chill of a long overdue starving revolt is in the mail and will soon find a suitable resting place on the backs of all Fat-neck Americans. From there it will develop into a thin frosty layer of sweat that will never evaporate. It will remain on the forehead like the mark of the beast serving as a constant reminder of how good we as a species once had it and how quickly it all went away. Love and love alone is the only sane and satisfactory answer for the problem with human existence.

Children will cry and babies will die leaving their mothers ripped from this reality and wandering like zombies turning tricks for the hordes of criminals set free from the prisons because there wasn't enough fiat federal reserve notes to line the pockets of people who know money isn't real. Families will be torn apart and the State will step up claiming to have the remedy but that remedy will be short lived much like the happiness of a baby when its bottle is taken away and replaced with indoctrination. Love and love alone is the only sane and satisfactory answer for the problem with human existence.

The hunger pains of how it use to be will be nothing compared to the thirst for some type of relief that begs to be quenched. Get use to the idea of American children drinking dirty water from the gutters.

When there is a knock at the door in the middle of the night, will you open the door with love in your heart or will you reach for the gun that shines in the moonlit Fear of your Ego? Love and love alone is the only sane and satisfactory answer for the problem with human existence.

When entire populations look up to the sky and beg for forgiveness from whatever God that abandoned them long ago, they will only see the illusion; the hologram placed in front of them that appears to be so real, they will give their lives up for it. It has already happened with the Global God-like economy. Like throwing virgins into the volcano to appease the Gods, people will sacrifice everything just to experience one nana-second of how it use to be. Love and Love alone is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem with human existence.

I'm getting very tired.......very very very tired!

In The Coming Days Ukraine

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 17:27:00 +0000

PULLED DUE TO CONTENT!

Not One Adult Among Us

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 18:24:00 +0000

Don't Worry! The Change in Consciousness is coming! Better yet, the change in consciousness is happening! Europe is under siege being held hostage by the IMF. Greece is the current point of attack with austerity measures, which the People dislike immensely, being passed and the "Banksters" will be plundering the resources and wealth of Greece in the coming weeks.

What is truly concerning is that most Americans think what is going on in Europe and the Middle East has little to do with the United States. The Federal Reserve, the private bank (much like IMF) will be deciding to raise the Debt Ceiling later this month. The president beats on his drum and says a default is very likely if an agreement cannot be met (ie printing out more debt=money=more debt). Greece would be in a much better position if they would default now but plummeting the country further into debt will only intensify the collapse.

The Greeks were well aware of this and that is why they and every other human being on the planet should reject anything and everything the banking cartels are pushing. IMF, World Bank, Bank of England, Federal Reserve are heads of a mafia that has one objective: Accrual of wealth and resources!

The same goes for the United States, Ireland, Germany, Italy, Ukraine and every other industrialized "civil society". Infinite Growth is impossible within a finite environment (Earth) The system is collapsing and the powers that be are putting on a huge show complete w/war, famine, and destruction to mask the fact that they don't have any control over the collapse. Their playhouse is burning to the ground. They will try the old adage of Divide & Conquer and Let Them Hate as Long as They Fear. But that modus operandi will only work for so long before the People realize that their fellow citizen is not their real enemy. The real enemy is the Global Economic System that has imprisoned a world of infinite creativity.

We are all children of God! That's what priests, evangelists, and whoever the fuck like to say. I have often revoked that notion until it finally dawned on me. THERE ISN'T ONE SINGLE ADULT WALKING AROUND ON THIS PLANET TODAY!!! If there were True Adults, we wouldn't have the wars, greed, and destruction that is occurring on a daily basis on this planet.

We are all children, just different ages. Collectively at this time, we as a species have the maturity level of a spoiled nine year old. Some children are teenagers (politicians, bankers, billionaires) and they have just enough knowledge to string the younger children (the masses) into doing their chores for them. The school bell is about to ring kids, and most of us aren't going to get to go out for Recess.

Another Net and a Trail of Crumbs and why Freedom Isn't Free

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Sat, 25 Jun 2011 23:07:00 +0000

I dig Conspiracy Theories and Films. I don't necessarily think any of them are whole Truths but as far as entertainment goes, the genre is one of the more interesting subjects. American reality television just can't hold the attention. There is no such thing as reality television as it is known and crammed down the throats of Americans 24/7. Behavior changes once whatever subject knows it is being monitored. That is true at the molecular level and hold true for people in reality television shows.

Conspiracy Theories are probably one of the more realistic "reality programming" that there is. 9/11 happened! People on Survivor or whatever you decide to waste your time watching on mainstream media is produced and directed. Alas the world is a stage. Those who watch or subscribe to CT's are often called "crazy" or "paranoid". Paranoia is almost knowing and it is not any indication of mental health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society. Don't kid yourself, the global society in which we find ourselves is very sick. I did not say "Our Society" is sick because this is not "OUR" society. You and I were born into this society or culture which means it was already here and you and I did not create any of it. Therefore, it is not ours. Same goes for the President. He isn't "my" president, he isn't "your" president and he isn't "Our" president. He is simply "The President" because "my", "your", and "Our" implies ownership and I don't care who your daddies are, they don't have enough money to buy the President.....but there are people that are wealthy enough to do so if they were so inclined. I do know this much to be true; someone is running the world and I know for a fact it isn't me.

However Conspiracy Theories really are just another net thrown from the same boat to catch all the fish. Its just thrown from the other side of the boat. MainStream Media is the main programming and CT's are the alternate programming for those not buying the main program but they are all leading us to the same spot. We are just ducks eating crumbs. Some ducks take the trail of bread crumbs, others choose to follow the trail of crackers. But both trails lead to the cooking pot. Americans like to say they have "Freedom of the Press" which every American does. The only problem is most Americans don't own and operate their own press. Mainstream Media has freedom of the press. The media moguls who own the News companies can print whatever they want. What they print is none of your business and they don't have to cater to you. If they have an agenda, then they have an agenda, they do after all have freedom of the press, they just choose to exercise that right instead of just claiming to have it.

America's new slogan is "Freedom Isn't Free". Which implies that something or someone has to be sacrificed for that Freedom. So how is Freedom not "Free" in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave? Once again, we are born into slavery without knowing it. You're given a name and assigned a number (SSN) So if you're born into slavery then you can't possibly know what True Freedom is, therefore what you are given and TOLD is Freedom isn't really being FREE, thus Freedom isn't Free.

The point I am trying to illustrate is that I think a mock alien invasion would be Awesome. I bought the ticket to the Freak Show by being born, now impress me!

Just Another Net

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Sun, 01 May 2011 21:08:00 +0000

....coming soon , as soon as I decide what it all means.

Progressive My A$$

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Sun, 03 Apr 2011 23:46:00 +0000

As I signed into Facebook the other day, two people popped up in People You May Know section. One Mr. Dave Cieslewicz and Paul Soglin. Having not decided who I was going to vote for in the mayoral election, I quickly added both of them with the notion that I would vote for the first one to accept my friend request.

Dave was the first to reply and accept my friend request even though Dave and I already go way back to two and a half months ago when we met at the site of the first mayoral forum, an assisted living facility. Dave was running his mouth about how he thought I wasn't funny and that he thought he could be funnier.

I told him, "If that is an attempt at humor, don't bother." I invited him down to the Big Deuce open mic. I could guarantee him some stage time. He said, "I don't know about that, I don't know if I can be funny on purpose."

I said,"Then that isn't comedy."

Paul Soglin stood along the wall waiting on all the barely conscious geriatrics being wheeled in from upstairs to watch the "debate". I introduced myself and Paul asked, "What are we doing here?"

I didn't know if he was speaking philosophically or merely talking to himself. He wasn't much for conversation after that. Everyone took their seats and the candidates took their positions up by the podium. There wasn't much difference between what Dave and Paul were saying. Just two company men looking for their spots at the Big Table. Soglin stated that he was running for office not because he wanted to, but because everyone else wanted him to. That comment made me think that his heart really wasn't into tackling the task at hand but only he knows that for sure.

Dave C. bragged on all of his "accomplishments" as mayor and how his wife was a long-time Madisonian. Great, you did your job.

Most residents that I have talked with about the mayoral race say they are voting for this person because that person is "messing everything up" or they are voting for this person because that person messed everything up twenty years ago. Both candidates are claiming they are the change which is the biggest joke of the year thus far. Nothing will change, the country should have learned that with Obama. It is interesting how Americans act like the woman in an abusive relationship. After all of the drama, they always seem to take back the abusive jerk or go out and find another guy that will do the exact same thing, it's just a matter of time. Thus is politics on any level in America today. A politician replacing a politician will still be a politician.

If Madison was as half as progressive as it claimed to be, they would not even think twice about voting for either Soglin or Cieslewicz. If Madison residents were really progressive, and I mean truly involved in the process of electing a leader, they would have done their homework and realized that John Blotz (city engineer) would be the best bet; at this time, that is all an election of any kind is, just a bet. But John Blotz is too far under the radar of these self-proclaimed progressives and chances are he doesn't want the job anyway.

When we get down to it, it is just a simple popularity contest and whoever shook the most hands and greased enough palms will be crowned king.

They are not interested in ideas to improve the city for everyone and they are not addressing far larger concerns that most people are not even aware of yet like peak oil but that was all discussed in earlier blogs.

It will be a tough decision for the people of Madison to make. But I do have good news, if you can't make up your mind, just flip a coin because it simply won't matter. Dave Cieslewicz and Paul Soglin are one in the same. Or you could vote for me as a write-in. Vote your little Harts out!

Something is Afoot

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 00:43:00 +0000

The cold chill of a long overdue starving revolt is on its way and will soon find a suitable resting place on the backs of all fatneck Americans, including myself. From there it will morph into a thin frosty layer of sweat that will never evaporate. It will remain on the forehead like the mark of the beast and serve as a grave reminder of how good we once had it; and how quickly it all disappeared.

Life is the price of admission and the FED is saying that there will be a "modest increase" in US consumer price inflation. It will soon be time to pay. While I do appreciate fancy economic rhetoric from an overpaid oligarch, I just can't help but wonder what "modest" means to someone who is controlling the world's money supply. These are, afterall, the same type of greedy souless jackals that give themselves "modest" twenty million dollar bonuses.

Modest if you are a billionaire or the employee of a billionaire that got you into office. If you come from modest means, then the increase will be "fair" but you will soon realize the result will be mind numbingly unfair.

The majority of average Americans will not possess the patience that is required to wait for extended periods of time in line for fresh water.

HST said, "At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards."

I don't know what he would make of this weirdness that is rolling in on our consciousness in this country. I imagine he would probably say something like, "Of course you horrible awful dumbasses! There are only so many seats at the table in the Main House. The rest of you will be fighting over soggy bread out in the slave quarters." Fuck him! He's dead, we are alive and options will soon be in high demand. The one question that remains is how will Americans react to soaring food prices.

In Genesis Ch.1 v26 it reads, God said, "Let us make man in our image."
I once asked a Jehovah's witness who wandered onto my doorstep, "Who is God talking to in that passage?" She replied with "Jesus Christ."

I said, "But Jesus doesn't show up until the New Testament."

"Well the book isn't written in chronological order."

"But it's chapter one of Genesis!"

I tried to explain to the lovely woman that we are all Gods incarnate on this planet. We are the evolutionary apex of consciousness in this corner of the galaxy and to treat any human being as anything other than a god is blasphemy towards God, the creator which is consciousness.

She said,"Well that is one way to look at it."

I said sure, but another way to look at it is after Ch.1 the book is about commerce and control.

"How do you get that?"

I explained that LORD God as in (your majesty, my Lord) shows up in Genesis Ch.2 and recreates man even though we all took care of that in Ch.1 with God at the table. LORD God does some hocus pocus, blows dust into the nostrils of man, takes a rib yada yada then gave him a name, Adam, and puts him in a garden to "keep and till".

"What is your point?"

When you are born, you are born a free god of this planet with no need for a name because you are a god, but then you're given a name and assigned a social security number and then when you're old enough you "get to work" tilling that big vast empty sea of money that needs perpetual upkeep.

"Well I don't believe that." she said.

I said of course you don't. You believe some guy born to a virgin 2,000 years ago is going to travel in time and save your sinning ass; and she's on my doorstep looking at me like I'm crazy.

"Now, now! There is no need to get mean."

"Did you know there are thirteen ruling families that run the world and every American president, including Barak Hussein Obama, is related to the Royal Family of England and the queen of England is a direct blood descendant of Mohammed?"

"Is that true?"

"I don't know, I just read that somewhere....but I don't believe everything I read either, especially the Bible."

But if you don't think there is a ruling class running the day-to-day scams of this world, two things:

1. Do better drugs!

2. Ask yourself why and how in the 21st century do we still have Kings
and Queens? Simple oligarchs twice removed. King William will be quite popular.

In the paradox of power, in order to gain the advantage on one's opponent, one should take away what that opponent takes for granted. We live in a paradigm that is shifting every day as the wealth gap widens more drastically with every bailout and mid-east revolt. Will we react in the state of Fear fighting each other until we wipe each other out? Or do we see the world for what it is, a blank and clear consciousness that recognizes an opportunity to start over with the eyes of Love looking back at ourselves and smiling at what we see?

The only difference between the protests in Madison and the protests in Egypt is that the protesters in Madison were well fed by Ian's Pizza. How peaceful will the protests be when everyone is hungry because the US consumer price inflation makes food unaffordable? They are already telling us food prices will rise 5% by the end of the summer. Who knows what the real number will be. I know this to be true. I've had all day, every day for the past two years to sit and just watch Americans go about their day. I've seen tens of thousands show up in the cold day after day to support their fellow Wisconsinites. An impressive display of potential Might; the People's Might that leaves no choice but to be taken seriously.

I can honestly say that I care exponentially more than the president does about each one of those thousands of living and breathing human beings out there in the cold standing up for what is right. I care exponentially more about their health, their well-being, their happiness; anything to make their world a better place. I do this because I've had all day every day for the past two years to take the time to simply sit and watch. I feel it is safe to say that I don't give a holy goddamn about any of them so that shows you how much the president cares about them; he's a busy man.

Remember who your enemies are, make friends with them, then remember who your friends are.

O.N.E.

Today on the Square: Victims of Culture

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Hart) — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 21:05:00 +0000

Quote from Adam Sachs in his piece, The Natural Laws of Collapse.
"The culture which drives us, whether we deplore it or not, likes us to go around in activism circles whenever we question it's most basic tenants. Activism keeps us busy and harmless. Not withstanding, the forbidden point to consider here is that the collapse of every civilization (including ours) is inevitable and always has been. Hidden in plain sight, we have not grasped what sooner or later will become obvious. Collapse of civilization is not up to any of us, we cannot prevent it, no matter what we do. The best we can do is be prepared."

Reaction Solution! Create the problem and when the People beg for help, you give them the solution you wanted. Happened with Slavery and the northern elites losing wealth to the southern elites due to cheap labor (Reaction: slavery is bad for business. Solution: Civil War) It happened back in 1936 when every American was put up as collateral for the Social Security program to pay off the private Federal Reserve Bank the first time the government was broke. The question nobody asked then was whose "Social Security"? Which social circles were being secured? The solution that benefits you (the wealthiest) the most. That is the type of culture we have all been indoctrinated into without even realizing it.

During the first mayoral "forum", every candidate was asked where they stood on the Almighty High Speed Rail project that was going to come to Wisconsin and miraculously turn the state's economy around entirely. I sided with John Blotz, a city engineer, who stated that there were more tangible services we could provide. I stated that there probably wasn't enough oil to even complete the $840 million rail system. A reporter (I stress "reporter" because they weren't up there with the candidates) said that my answer to the question was as crazy as Gov. Walker's answer when he said there wasn't enough money. People scoffed and said that there were even foreign companies ready to break ground on the project then Walker pulled the plug and people said, "Oh we even had the money to do it."

How do you know the state had the money? Because the "News" said so? Chances are there was never going to be a rail system and it was used as a political tool. But that is paranoid conspiracy thinking. No, its called politics at the federal level. As far as the reporter who said I was crazy for saying there wasn't enough oil, consider this: 99.9% of the world economy is based on OIL. Whether its the production or transportation of any product, oil is used. So if Walker said there wasn't enough money, then what he was really saying (whether he knew it or not) is that there isn't enough oil. The only difference was Gov. Walker knew there wasn't going to be any funding for the High Speed Rail. The rest of us were just indulging in naive wishful thinking waiting to be told the "News."

So now I find myself in Madison, less than a week removed from running for mayor witnessing the Reaction part of Gov. Walker's idea of taking collective bargaining from the WI Unions. So what would be the solution?

Newt Gingrich, the amphibious little snot that he is, wants to rush a bill through the Congress that would allow States to declare bankruptcy. First two states to go, Illinois and California. California has the 8th largest economy in the world. That will be a problem. Closer to home, what are the consequences or effects on Wisconsin if Illinois declares bankruptcy?

People leave Illinois and everyone knows how much a FIB loves Wisconsin. They come to WI looking for work, but unemployment is high because the Repair Bill was passed and thousands of state employees are out of work. If the Unions win, good for them but then the state is still bankrupt. The only winners are those pulling the strings. Like George Carlin said, "It's a big club and you ain't in it!" The economy, as uneconomical as it is, is about to derail and the storm brewing across the pond, moving from Egypt into Europe is on its way here so don't forget who your friends are.

If and when states begin declaring bankruptcy, there will no doubt be civil unrest just like there is in the Middle East. What is capable of pissing a large group of people off to the point of organizing mass protests? Food and water! If the world economy is based entirely on oil and oil is running out, then food prices soar. That is what is not being broadcast in mainstream news, food prices!

Now there are Iranian warships wanting to cruise through the Suez Canal. The Suez Canal that Egypt controls. Egypt is in the middle of a revolution, if the Suez Canal is disrupted, then oil on its way to Europe is halted. If supply is low while demand is high then oil prices go up which in turn cause the price of food to skyrocket, thus food riots in Europe and the rest is axiomatic.

The world is smaller than ever and we have more in common with the Egyptians than we think. But down on the square, there isn't a revolution occurring. I know this because the True Revolution will not be televised, it will be LIVED! It will be lived by every man, woman, and child in the streets; leaving no one to watch it on television. The protests are the distraction, the questions is, what are they a distraction from? The eventual collapse of government or the fact that we are all victims of a culture that is experiencing it's final death rattle?

What ever the case may be, I do know this; It is really cool to see 77,000+ people gathered peacefully. Around and around we go! Relax! Its your city, not your sister!