Dé Domhnaigh, Eanáir 27, 2008

400th post

You chose to dance with the tyranny of deserve, and now you blame me, if it's gratitude you seek children, seek not to be a master.

Anthony Torrango

Anthony, my childhood best friend, died of alcohol poisoning in Norfolk last week, just two days before I myself got noticibly more intoxicated than I had planned to at a party.

I was planning on telling people about this incident, but didn't know exactly what to say. Now, I really have no idea what to think.

Jessica Bronson-McBush

This is Jessica Bronson-McBush, second cousin to and last surviving female relative of Charles Bronson.

She was born to Stevie and Wanda Bronson on March 6th 1975 just six weeks before her mother was bludgeoned and sodomized to death by a gang of Puerto Rican coke dealers. When her father weakly suggested that the matter be left to the police she was sent to be raised by her older cousin Charles, who quickly avenged her mother by ritualistically slaughtering ninety-seven Gotham street urchins in forty-eight hours.

Jessica suffered a rough childhood. Besides burying her sisters, grandmother, and female cousins after horrifying ends, she was also kidnapped no fewer than twelve times before the age of seven. It was during the last of these incidents when Jessica first tasted human blood for herself, stabbing a Cubo-soviet-Black nationalist death agent in the back after cousin Charles had dispatched her other three dozen tormentors with a Kalashnikov.

Jessica attended Our Lady of the Sorrows High School in White Plains,New York from 1989-1993, narrowly avoiding a brutal rape at the hands of her first boyfriend, "Edger Jennings", who turned out to secretly be Jose Pelligro, illegitimate grandchild of Manuel Noriega. After high school, Jessica attended Wellesley college, graduating with a Bachlor's in textile design despite witnessing the slaughter of her entire sorority house by a crack-addled two-bit thief released from prison early by a bleeding-heart judge.

It was in college that Jessica met Trevor McBush; famed professor of chemistry at UMass and distant relative of the Kennedy's. Despite being twenty years younger than Dr. McBush, the couple became romantically involved and married in the spring of 1996. Her venerable old cousin Charles arrainged a great sacrifice for the wedding, dispatching of thirty-eight terrorists, sixty-five known communists, and legions of undifferentiated street punks. Why Jessica married someone so much older than her is easy to see; the girl had had a strong figure all of her life, and though his death-phallus was as virile as ever, it was clear that old cousin Charles had entered his sunset days.

The couple moved to a Boston flat after Jessica's graduation, where tragedy soon befell them. Jessica and her unborn daughter were raped simultaneously by one Tyrone Afrika, who had just had a grand-theft-auto charge thrown out on a technicality, in April of 1998. The fetus soon died of the abuse, and the McBush marriage nearly fell apart at the seems. Old cousin Charles had warned Trevor against moving his bride to the inner city, where the average life-span of a white woman is just under three days.

The birth of two more daughters brought the hope that Jessica could put her tragic past behind her, but she and her husband were forced to watch at gunpoint as illegal immigrants devoured them alive in June of 2000. The sight of her husband helpless, weeping, and wetting herself made their eventual divorce inevitable. Cousin Charles, now in his eighties and in failing health, was able only to slaughter those directly responsible, and did not have the strength to bring The Great Clensing that formally came with such outrages.

But despair not good reader, for before Jessica sent Trevor simpering back to his flaccid ivory tower he somehow managed to impregnate her with a son, who naturally took the name Charles. The boy was born in August of 2003 just as his legendary third cousin took to his deathbed. The newborn boy, with his sixteen-pound frame, exquisitely-developed manhood, and bearing the same steely gaze as his namesake , was clearly destined to be his heir, and so after barely a day of convalescence, Jessica willed herself out of her birthing bed, battled her way through the hospital staff to grab her child, who roared triumphantly with the knowledge that he was to begin to fulfill his destiny, and together mother walked out the door and drove through the night to be at the side of dying Justice Incarnate.

When they came to old cousin Charles' hospital room they found him breathing laboriously surrounded by six dead gang-bangers. Though old Bronson's eyes were already growing cloudy with death, they immediately glowed with their old fire at the sight of his namesake infant; yay, as much his son as if he had been spawned from his own loins. He bade Jessica bring the boy to him and she rapturously obeyed. Upon being held by the Great Old One, the boy let out such a piercing coo that twelve virgin lads at a nearby orphanage were struck dead by the concussive shock.

With the last of his strength, the Great Old One Charles took the severed head of one of the street-toughs and fed the blood from the dangling veins into the infant's mouth. "I dub thee Vengence" said The Old One, and with this, his face became determined, a great, contented sigh emanated from his throat, hailstones the size of lepers began to fall from the sky outside, and the Old One was no more. His mission completed, his deathly continuance victorious.

So who than can doubt the chain of events that came with the rape and murder of New Charles Bronson's preschool sweetheart, Victoria-Mae Sanctimonia? Oh how the rivers of blood did flow as the young boy took up his 44. magnum, and did exterminate both the criminals and their blood relations entire; yay, down to the fifth cousins and their adopted nephews. And how his mother did weep with pride that day, knowing that her life's destiny was fulfilled.

And how shall his mother, you may ask, spend her middle age? In all likelihood, of course, she will not. already she has been abducted six and raped seventeen times since the death of old Charles; and oh how terrible was the justice of her son. Yet whether Jessica is buried alive, sold into white slavery by Arab devils, or savaged by bull and leopard like old St. Marciana is of no consequence. She is our lady, the mother of our savior, and Jessica Bronson shall be remembered through the dying screams of the wicked ones until the end of days.

Dé hAoine, Eanáir 25, 2008


Unfailingly cute, at times too much so. But it still creates the oddest desire for a pregnant teenaged daughter. I recommend it.

Déardaoin, Eanáir 17, 2008

Harvey Keitel

I don't know if I've blogged about this before;I've certainly talked about it, but I'm afraid that it's a significant moment in my life, and I must keep referring to it.

I was watching TV at my parent's house late one night two Christmases ago. The "Bonnie Situation" scene of "Pulp Fiction" was playing on Cinemax at the same time that "Bad Lieutenant" was playing on IFC.

And there was Harvey Keitel, saving the day as the ultra-smooth "Wolf" in California while his parallel self swayed a mournful dance of crack-induced impotence in some Manhattan hovel.

One man become the totality of human experience, the glory and the gutter. Stunning.

You remember PCU? That guy who was trying to prove that there was always a movie with either Michael Caine of Gene Hackman playing on TV?

Well, ever since the big movie channels expanded into various genre-channels, I have discovered that one can find "Pulp Fiction", "Scarface", or "The Neverending Story" playing at four in the morning every morning somewhere on extended cable.

Try it for yourself.

Dé Máirt, Eanáir 15, 2008

Kimball County Cops rob Utah Man, Brag about it.

"File photo of the Kimball County Sheriff's Department."


Now, did this man get his $69,000 dollars doing something illegal? Probably, and I'm sure this matters a great deal to those who enjoy having Daddy hold them in his arms and tell them that everything is going to be alright. I personally have a laissez-faire view of the black market and couldn't care less how he earned his money. What bothers me are the archaic government entities along the I-80 corridor that support themselves by sucking up millions of tax dollars as part of some anti/meth/anti-drugs-in-general/anti illegal immigrant etc. crusade and then suck on the public teet some more to pay for the cost of jailing perfectly responsible smugglers. Counties that don't have a large enough tax base to support themselves and have to rely on trolling the roads for outsiders who have "suspicious money" available for the taking should not exist, and if there were any justice in this world this Utah fellow would come back with an Ivy League lawyer and a lawsuit and ruin those highway thugs from Kimball.

Dé Céadaoin, Eanáir 09, 2008

This is for John Wenz

Ronald Reagan

Bow to dementia messiah.

Strange Thing

I've had what might be called "chick music" in my head all day, specifically my mother's music; Fleetwood Mac, Carole King, Carly Simon, et al.

I cleaned my apartment today, and I think that might have been what set it off; This hopelessly effeminate act of preventing oneself from getting sick off of one's own filth.

But this is not a complaint, I actually like the female singer-songwriters from the seventies, I like their groove, I like their aesthetic, perfectly pleasant music for when your driving through the sticks with a busted CD player and have to rely on local radio.

The subject of "You're so Vain" is Warren Beatty. All reasonably intelligent people know this.

Dé Máirt, Eanáir 08, 2008

Pimpin ain't easy

Be generous with the collection plate, God rewards all good deeds.

You wannna take him out? He's taking the whole fucking building with him

Term limits can't touch this son.