[Updated as needed.]

Tanya Treadway, an assistant U.S. attorney in Kansas

Why is Wanita Renea Young a very sad, sad woman who has made the world a sadder place.

Two teen girls left a box of homemade cookies with paper hearts on Ms Young’s doorstep; they did so for several neighbors. She sued the girls for the anxiety attack she claims it brought on and a colossally moronic judge awarded her the “medical” damages incurred when the cookies prompted her to visit the emergency room the next day thinking she’d had a heart attack.

Why is Michelle Malkin a fantastically awful bitch?

About 120,000 American citizens [Ed: this is incorrect, approximately 62% were citizens, making it 74,000 citizens, which adjusted for population growth would be the same as 160,000 today, plus the 100,000 others without citizenship] were put into prison camps by the US government, and President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in particular. Not one of these people hurt anyone or tried to. There was not one combatant death during wartime on US soil (though an explosive balloon got an Oregon family as I recall). Michelle Malkin is so completely fucktarded that she thinks putting 100,000 people in prison solely for having epicanthic folds is justifiable and defensible. She wrote a book about it called In Defense of Internment: The Case for Racial Profiling in World War II and the War on Terror. I refer the mentally challenged author to a simple proof and remind her that no one—even a pretty non-Caucasian—should be lowering the bar for freedom pro-rated by skin tone.

Why is Elizabeth Hoffman a conniving bitch?

9news.com reports: University of Colorado President Elizabeth Hoffman said a four-letter word used toward women can sometimes be used as a “term of endearment.” She did this to offer a defense of university’s football players and recruits who used expletives to address female teammates. By demonstrating this support for her male athletes Miss Hoffman reveals just what a sweet, sweet cunt she is.

Why are Sabrina Harman and Lynndie England ghoulish twats?

I dunno—you tell me.

Why is Terri Carlin a dumb bitch?

Terri Carlin of Knoxville, TN filed suit against Janet Jackson for baring her breast on national TV. The ambulance chaser involved is named Wayne A Ritchie Jr; he is an Evil Bastard. Mizz Carlin alleges damages—which could run into the billions of dollars—from Americans seeing a breast. She’s a woman who thinks she, and half of America, was severely damaged by seeing a breast. Does this woman bathe and dress in the dark?

Why are Terry Bethea and Virginia Bonvillain dumb bitches?

They assigned ongoing behavior reprogramming to a 7-year-old boy in Louisiana for telling a school-mate that his mom is gay. His mom is gay. Gay is not a dirty word. Neither is cracker in this case.

Why is Kathy Cox a dumb bitch?

Kathy Cox, the Georgia Superintendent of Schools, tried to get the word “evolution” removed from all state curricula and tried to add intelligent design along side its neutered remains. Even Jimmy Carter, his Christian faith strong to the point of believing that his mere lust constituted a form of infidelity, said, “Nationwide ridicule of Georgia’s public education system will be inevitable if this proposal is adopted.” Oh, the ridicule might come just of the proposal being made.

Why is Shane Walker dumb?

She might not be a bitch, she could be the nicest person around, but calling the cops to report that her boyfriend had stolen a felony weight of weed from her makes her the dumbest woman alive.

Who else?

Bonnie “Scare Tactics” Hammer and Jeri “Too Smart to Be a Doctor” Ryan.

We were just moving from Hokona to Santa Clara, an all girls dorm. Patrolling with Travis, my supervisor, 12-3am shift. Travis was from Southern New Mexico as I recall which is all but Texas.

Travis was the new head security aide. I had applied for the job at the same time he had. I had a couple years experience. He had one semester. I had the strongest possible recommendation of the most tenured head SA. He had nothing. He got the job. The man who gave him the job, Dave (maybe Dallas but I can’t remember; soft-spoken platinum blond guy), happened to be in the same Christian group of friends. I think they were all in the CCC (Campus Crusade for Christ) but I’m not sure. I happened to have a reputation as a Satanist thanks specifically to a bass player by the name of Dale something or other who was probably more interested in poking my girlfriend than protecting her immortal soul from the devil when he started the stories.

Anyway.

We were walking past Santa Clara Hall when we saw three big fellas hanging around the side of the building in the shadows. I said, “Let’s go talk with them.”

Travis said something along the lines of, “Nah, better not. Let’s call the campus cops.”

I said, “Ah, don’t worry. Let’s go.” And traipsed off without a care in the world.

After a step or two Travis fell back. I didn’t know it because looking to your companion for support makes you look like you’re scared. It was three big guys and I was neither scared nor wanted to appear so. I didn’t know I was alone till I got to them—Travis about 25 yards behind me under the nearest streetlight.

It was obviously three football players from the UNM team. They all outweighed me by 50lbs; they all happened to be black. Ah, Travis, now I finally get it!

When I walked up to them, one picked up a broken leg of a Road Closed sign. An equalizer, as the kids say, though any witness would put the odds against me without the help.

I said, “Evening, guys.” They responded amicably.

I said, “What’s a big guy like you need a stick for?” He threw it down, bashfully smiling.

We chatted a moment. I said something like, “Look, I gotta get y’all to leave, you know. It’s my job.”

And we parted company as perfect gentlemen with, “Have a good one,” and so on.

When I got back to Travis he was on his handheld radio. I guess he was trying to hash out whether it was a 10-whatever or a 10-whatsits with the campus cops’ switchboard temp in time to save my life.

That cocksucker showed up for work drunk a week later too. Kept his job though.

Especially over time, the horrific becomes a source of amusement. No one believes they can laugh at their own misfortune in the midst of it but for most of us it does become funny after time has worn out the stinger and its venom. It’s healthy. It’s proof of the inefficacy and risibility of misfortune. Arguably proof that happiness has higher gravity.

But the Holocaust isn’t funny yet. Even after 60 years now. In fact, it’s so unfunny that making jokes about it is illegal in several countries. It’s not illegal in the US but unless you’re alone with some of your asshole buddies from the groups we were talking with before, even you aren’t stupid enough to joke about it.

Even so, the Holocaust will be fodder for stand-up comics someday. Just like everything else. Gently at first, focusing on jokes at the expense of the perpetrators. Eventually, no holds barred.

When will the Holocaust be funny? After all the survivors and participants have died of natural causes.

And maybe after all the Holocaust deniers have died too, of whatever causes.

I swear to Patpong Road I’ve been trying to not write about this stuff. You don’t want to hear my story about the beating I took from trying to stop Jamie from skinning that frog alive anyway.

Senator John F Kerry

Kerry begs the question, How many babies do you have to kill to be evil? The answer apparently is not “one.”

Wesley Clark

Who? Oh, yes, the guy who joined the Democrat party 4 months ago. If there was a Democrat incumbent, he would have swung the other way, no doubt. He gave testimony to Congress that the US doesn’t need the UN’s permission to invade Iraq—or any other country—and he was sure Iraq had weapons of mass destruction which would inevitably be used against America. Now he says he never said it; which those with a 4^th grade reading level seem to be willing to accept. If that’s not proof enough that he’s the worst man for the job, just realize that Madonna endorsed him. Ignoring his cardinal lack of integrity, there’s no more damning testimony against a man.

Actually, one thing would make me vote for him. If he agrees to make good on his guarantee that there will be no terrorist attacks if he’s President. By “make good,” I mean, he signs a legal guarantee agreeing to be shot in head if such a thing does happen on his watch.

[Ed (01/24/04): follow up in the interests of trust. I know the Congressional quotes have been taken out of context but they don’t change the issue. You don’t get to say, “I’m in favor of killing my neighbor, my neighbor is going to hurt me otherwise, and I don’t think I need anyone’s permission; but I think I should wait awhile,” and then turn around and say you never supported neighbor killing. He supported the war in Iraq without the UN’s adivce—I suspect he just wanted to wait another 18 months till he was in office and it was his ratings bonanza.]

[Ed (01/30/04): last follow up necessary. He intentionally ordered civilian targets bombed in Serbia and there were civilians killed. That makes him a war criminal. And not in the shot-wounded-men and innocent people to death sense that John Kerry is but full-on legally an international war criminal; lucky for him the US hasn’t allowed an international war crimes tribunal to form.]

Al Sharpton

When you have strongly stratified classes, Communism is an appealing notion to the ones beneath. Somehow avoiding the C-word or even the S-word makes it palatable enough for public discussion.

Dennis Kucinich

Cleveland? Seriously? Using one’s ability to run a town into the ground as proof that you’ve got the courage of your convictions is an interesting, if unoriginal position: Being bad at my job proves I’m doing it right.

Carol Moseley Braun

Is out of it now. Don’t know much about her. She has a nice smile.

Richard Gephardt

Well, why not? It took another tricky Dick three tries to get in the big chair. Oh, spoke too soon. He’s out now too. Gotta quit putting these off till the last minute.

John Edwards

Hmmm. Carolinas; they’re polite and courteous. Young and good looking. Yeah, he’s the winner in the batch. Also happens to be a blood sucking, ambulance chasing, nouveau riche elitist pro-war, anti-war, pro-war enemy of personal responsibility who thinks you deserve at least 8 million dollars for spilling coffee on yourself. Yep, he’s a rat bastard who calls people outside of his sphere, “regular people.” If I remember much about you, he’s the one you want.

Howard Dean

No one in the world is a bigger fan of righteous anger than I am. Ask anyone. This cat however, doesn’t look you in the eye when he yells at you. Speaking as an anger expert: That’s a very, very, very bad sign. That said, Vermont’s economy improved while taxes fell when he was Governor. I’m not convinced it won’t be a mistake but I’d probably vote for him.

Can’t hardly wait for the State of the Union Address.

[Ed (01/21/04): realized that Joe Lieberman got left off the list and wanted to mention that it wasn’t the silent anti-semitic treatment, I just honestly forgot he was running. I think he has that effect on a lot of voters. Poor bastard.]

Uncle. For the love of Jesus the Cripes, uncle.

Seasons of the Electric Witch was a long poetic exploration on an intricate acrostic theme of winter, spring, summer, and autumn with my own newfound Italian, or lack thereof, used as bookends for it. An experimental work unlike most everything else I ever wrote, it was liberating and finally quite satisfying. It took a great deal of work. It’s the most structured poetry I ever wrote. I was proud of it. And though it isn’t my best, it contains some of my favorite lines.

the words do complicate,
the words get in the way,
every word used by another
is a word i shouldn’t say.

With this new pride I submitted it and two of my shorter works to my university’s student run literary rag, Blue Mesa, I think. They judge blind, no names, so the work is all that counts. I’d never shown it in a class. No one had ever read it. I liked my chances.

After some time went by I was pleased to accept but the second or third of my two score rejection letters.

That tears it.

I was already pretty good at typography and typesetting so I got a business license and started a ’zine. I didn’t know it then but this is the curse. They don’t tell you about the curse. But I will. To prove I’m your friend in spite of everything.

Writers who want nothing more than to write—even for beans and rice and that snowed in mud shack without plumbing—will become editors. As editors they will be frustrated and miserable and never see anything they care that they wrote in print. It works for any career.

I discovered this axiom early but not early enough. Like you, I should have seen it coming. Before I ended up an editor, my best friend, a fantastic actress, ended up a Production Coordinator. Making good green but not really happy at all. I watched that poor chick go to a call back and do a regular day’s work one day when she was puking every hour from a stomach bug. She wanted it. Like me, she got the worst compromise—facilitating the dream but not being allowed to be the thing.

The new ’zine, majenta (some pieces converted to online life), did well, fairly predictably. Sold every copy of 7 issues and various side projects and whatever reprints we did. Good reviews, all unsolicited and two from out of state.

For the second or third issue I hit up some old chums from the English department for submissions. Contrary to popular belief among unpublished writers, editors don’t want to keep you from getting published, they just can’t find you. Or you suck.

Someone I’d had a couple classes with responded favorably. She was doing her thesis (undergrads have to do a thesis for a writing degree at UNM). So she agreed to hand over her poetry thesis as a submission.

When she did I was excited to have what I expected to be a polished work to pick and choose from. Thumbing through I’d already seen a couple worth publishing before I got to the last one; I believe it was Seasons of the Hysterical Female.

It opened with an Italian word or two. It continued on to discuss the seasons and so on and so forth at some length. I’ve never been given Rohypnol but I suspect what I felt was exactly like someone who has and is slowly realizing something is wrong. Really wrong but what.

I read it again. It made no sense. How? The spirit of the radio? Some bizarre pin-point manifestation of zeitgeist caused by a shared lecture from Sandra Cisneros? Bruja becomes strega because… No… No. She had been a judge on the Blue Mesa panel. That’s all that made sense. The panel that rejected my poem as unfit for publication.

That fucking bitch had submitted a loose rewrite of my own poem back to me and worse, had used it as a part of her graduation work. At the time I tried to find some flattery in it.

Provided without commentary.

Commentary: some of the terms weren’t in the dictionary till recently so may not be equally represented. Also, all terms appear on various letter pages which got 50,000 views for the year so all were viewed more times than indicated.

1. Bambi Francisco (viewed 3,240 times)
2. nymphomaniac (viewed 2,726 times)
3. zoophilia (viewed 2,122 times)
4. sex (viewed 1,458 times)
5. crack whore (viewed 1,139 times)
6. pig-fucker (viewed 1,106 times)
7. onanism (viewed 1,103 times)
8. Ku Klux Klan (viewed 999 times)
9. mammogram (viewed 990 times)
10. monkey-fucker (viewed 948 times)
11. vagina (viewed 936 times)
12. whore (viewed 887 times)
13. oral sex (viewed 784 times)
14. sheep-fucker (viewed 777 times)
15. porch nigger (viewed 771 times)
16. masturbate (viewed 735 times)
17. what (viewed 703 times)
18. woman (viewed 698 times)
19. nigger (viewed 693 times)
20. raghead (viewed 642 times)
21. slut (viewed 634 times)
22. stripper (viewed 618 times)
23. male-slut (viewed 588 times)
24. passive-aggressive (viewed 585 times)
25. kike (viewed 579 times)
26. beer goggles (viewed 578 times)
27. wake-n-bake (viewed 555 times)
28. love (viewed 548 times)
29. faggot (viewed 522 times)
30. Photoshop (viewed 519 times)
31. debtors prison (viewed 518 times)
32. mother (viewed 510 times)
33. micro manager (viewed 510 times)
34. Maria Bartiromo (viewed 493 times)
35. self-respect (viewed 492 times)
36. no (viewed 491 times)
37. contortionist (viewed 486 times)
38. racist (viewed 484 times)
39. alcohol (viewed 479 times)
40. gay (viewed 472 times)
41. ex-girlfriend (viewed 465 times)
42. man (viewed 461 times)
43. yes (viewed 454 times)
44. word (viewed 452 times)
45. American (viewed 451 times)
46. Jew (viewed 446 times)
47. temp-agency (viewed 441 times)
48. rape (viewed 438 times)
49. never (viewed 434 times)
50. radio disk jockey (viewed 433 times)
51. non-alcoholic beer (viewed 425 times)
52. hacker (viewed 408 times)
53. Nazi (viewed 407 times)
54. anal probe (viewed 407 times)
55. jarhead (viewed 406 times)
56. fuck (viewed 400 times)
57. torture (viewed 399 times)
58. Bible (viewed 395 times)
59. interesting (viewed 394 times)
60. white trash (viewed 393 times)
61. share (viewed 388 times)
62. heroin addict (viewed 388 times)
63. God (viewed 385 times)
64. majenta (viewed 385 times)
65. rapper (viewed 384 times)
66. non-sequitur (viewed 380 times)
67. Lowest Common Denominator (viewed 375 times)
68. homosexual (viewed 366 times)
69. Hamsterdam (viewed 363 times)
70. nuclear bomb (viewed 361 times)
71. clothes-hanger (viewed 360 times)
72. American Indian (viewed 358 times)
73. kind (viewed 355 times)
74. worship (viewed 355 times)
75. lesbian (viewed 353 times)
76. Republican (viewed 352 times)
77. death (viewed 349 times)
78. girlfriend (viewed 340 times)
79. homo habilis (viewed 340 times)
80. government subsidy (viewed 339 times)
81. girl (viewed 338 times)
82. judgemental (viewed 336 times)
83. URL (viewed 334 times)
84. white (viewed 333 times)
85. romance (viewed 332 times)
86. queer (viewed 331 times)
87. Hell (viewed 331 times)
88. epithet (viewed 330 times)
89. Jesus (viewed 330 times)
90. cunt (viewed 329 times)
91. Evil (viewed 328 times)
92. right (viewed 328 times)
93. cunnilingus (viewed 327 times)
94. sodomy (viewed 325 times)
95. coffee (viewed 324 times)
96. hippy (viewed 324 times)
97. literally (viewed 319 times)
98. niggah (viewed 317 times)
99. Buddha (viewed 317 times)
100. twat (viewed 316 times)

See all these and more in the Devil’s Dictionary™.

The first set was so much fun, here are four more fresh for 2004 for your enjoyment and maybe for your own site. Scroll down to get the HTML to add them to your site and what options are available. Here are two random samples from the menu.

Our new menu, columns A and B

You can use the HTML samples below on your own site to get the warnings they are shown with.

Conservative with headshots

To display the current terror alert level on your own site, you can add the following HTML to a page.

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js?t=cp"> </script>

The HTML below will randomize it. Randomized might be preferable to the real level. The real level rarely changes so isn’t as interesting as content, and the real level has almost no meaning whatsoever to the average North American.

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js?t=cp;r=1"> </script>

Liberal with headshots

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js?t=lp"> </script>

And randomized below (sample image not shown).

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js?t=lp;r=1"> </script>

Conservative with text

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js?t=c"> </script>

And randomized below (sample image not shown).

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js?t=c;r=1"> </script>

Liberal with text

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js?t=l"> </script>

And randomized below (sample image not shown).

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js?t=l;r=1"> </script>

Classic terror level

Well, sure it’s only 10 days old…

To display the current Classic Terror™ alert level on your own site, check the instructions.

Caveat

These are provided without warranty. Sedition·com has been in continuous service since 1998 and we intend to remain online in perpetuity but there is no guarantee we will be able to do so.

The JavaScript that drives these has been tested and works correctly in 8 different browsers on Macintosh but it is possible it will fail on other or older browsers. We estimate that problems will occur on fewer than 1% of active browsers but it’s also not a guarantee.

Happy New Year.

I would like to thank

Again, this was inspired by Geek and Proud and by turn Wacky Neighbor.

Technotes

Anyone interested in seeing how these work can learn all about it here: Passing JavaScript arguments via the src attribute.

Another long term research project. The bonnetéd bees must have their way.

These are all intentionally falsified quotes. They are fictions. “No quote on this page is real,” he typed furiously, “excepting, of course, this one.” I am making them up right now. I found them nowhere. They didn’t exist until I was eating some trail mix and thought how well dried mango would go with fictitious quotes.

This page will be online for many years to come, barring an untimely death if I push my handlers too far. Maybe nothing will ever come of it but I think that many out there are stupid enough or malicious enough to take these and repost them in another venue without the proper attribution: outright falsehood. I do admit my own curiosity borders on the malicious, but then again we drown an awful lot of dogs in the name of knowledge every day. I think of this as medical research and so should you.

The list will likely grow over time and news briefs but will only ever contain original lies.

No one hates chickens more than I. Anyone who loves chickens shouldn’t be allowed to be an American. George W Bush

When I discovered my brother was a CIA operative assassinating civilian leaders in Laos, it changed my whole perspective on war. Howard Dean

I didn’t vote for Bush intentionally, you have to understand. You have no idea how difficult it is to read a ballot when you’re drunk. Michael Moore

It was a sad day for America when Santa Claus killed Jesus on the cross. Jerry Falwell

Being a smart chick has had its drawbacks. Condoleezza Rice

A little sexual experimentation when a man is young does not make him a homosexual. And my wife understands that. Oral Roberts

Maybe it is wrong but I still think Jim Carey is funnier than Damon Wayans. Louis Farrakhan

I’ve always thought of the term “cracker” with pride. The only way to rob the word of its power to harm is to make it our own. Tom Ridge

I didn’t enjoy killing people in Vietnam—especially the civilians we got on 44—but I’m proud I got the chance to do so for my country. John Kerry

The only thing as dangerous as the reds is the gays. Ronald Reagan

Look, I admit it was a really bad breakup with Ralph [Nader] and maybe I was bitter at the time but it did not color my political view and I’ve had better orgasms with a Browning 1919 anyway. Ann Coulter

If I learned anything from President Kennedy it’s that when a woman half your age wants it, it doesn’t matter that your wife is down the hall or that a Senator is waiting to meet you. William Jefferson Clinton

The timing of reporting exit polls during a national election is a delicate issue if you want to improve your candidate’s chances for winning. Tom Brokaw

I may not like Ann [Coulter] but I suppose I’d fuck her. Ted Rall

I know I stole everything from William Gibson, but he’s like practically a Canadian. Neal Stephenson

I really don’t hate the hebes. Hillary Rodham Clinton

Between the porn and stiff necks suicide note turns up in the search logs often. Really often. Almost every damn day. More lately since it’s the holidays.

Suicide is an interesting thing. As I wrote before, to be or not to be, is the ultimate self-answering query. But let’s talk about the keystone of the act: the note.

If you’re not now thinking or have thought of offing yourself, beat it. There’s nothing here for you today. I’ve got no sarcasm just now.

What you can write

There are 3 bends this can take.

1. I’m angry. It’s not possible that anyone in the world has ever been as angry as I am. I’m gonna get them back on the way out. They will have to just stand and take it. Making the last word mine in the absolute is worth it.
2. I am hurt, I feel too strongly, I can’t stop feeling, I can’t stop caring, I care about every run over cat, everything makes me cry, no one gets it, I can only try to leave some poetry in my wake.
3. I’m really just too small to fight anymore and I want to make a clean exit. I write this to try to explain so no one blames him or herself. I plan to finish my affairs, clean my room, and try not to make a mess in the bathroom when I do it.

All of these are natural. They are understandable. Maybe you thought they weren’t. Maybe someone foolish and gullible told you they couldn’t understand it.

Dear Angry:

You are going to be able to wreak misery and worse on them with your attacks and your finger pointing. And they won’t be able to get you back. They probably really love you too, even though they don’t show it, so it will hurt them regardless of what poison you can capture in longhand. Anger is a potent meme. You’ll be able to pass it on and get them back for years to come.

The trick is nothing you can write from a place of this kind of anger will either last or be appealing. In fact, it will be ugly and laughable to anyone but those few it’s for.

The local paper will pick up your suicide note and run it. It will be a catalyst for other parents to hug their children closer; not something that divides them. Try thinking of what the note will sound like when read aloud by the prom king at a kegger by the river. They’re not crying or hurt, they’re laughing.

No matter what you do, what you write, you won’t be able to hurt anyone much in the end. You might go, thinking they’re hurt, but they’re fine. You’re dead. They’re fine.

It’s important you know it. Even if they were dead with you, they’d still be fine. You can’t stop what makes you angry by dying. It won’t go away by removing anyone. You can’t even hurt it. There will be a new prom king next year, and the year after, and so on for all the years you’ll be rotting alone in the ground with wires holding your skull in the shape its supposed to have, wearing the suit that the mortician dressed you in after he stitched you up and pumped your bare naked ass full of formaldehyde.

You’re dead. They’re fine. No parting shots, no note can change that.

Dear Hurt,

There is poetry of polished obsidian in pain. Dissenters reveal a lack of ability to live, to know life. These are they who design final solutions, who use the median to weigh the lives of children, who have a formula for what you are supposed to be and to feel. You’ve always been right about them and the world. Always.

You can write it’s all pain. You can blow the words in rings like Elven pipe smoke in a still glen at dusk. You can drag a fountain pen on parchment to push their nature sacred. You can leave a formula perfectly chaotic in the 1:1 that reveals a truth topologically which is so final, your soul will live painlessly for all time in those who grasp it.

There is a problem. They can’t see as well as you do, and you know it and must admit it when forced on the point. Your soul is the bleeding orifice below Vincent’s temple. Their souls are all salt and pepper, PTA, and reasonably priced sedans with all weather tires and a good warranty.

When they read the note, even on that paper, in that beautiful hand, they won’t see. They will want to and they will try. Maybe for years they’ll try. They will fail. Totally.

Those living who can and would understand will never see your words. They will go on living, wishing they had more of their kind around them.

dear too-small-to-fight,

You have always been so wonderful. Thoughtful. Making yourself small in all the family pictures so you don’t take up too much space. Taking care of everything. Refusing to even leave a mess and choosing the location and method least likely to cause problems for the survivors. Refusing to be a disappointment to the last.

You’re the body I stumbled on in that Oregon field. You’re the hardest to talk to because it’s so not about you. Exactly. It’s about you, but there is no appeal to you that has any realistic weight.

No matter how well you explain they won’t understand. You can read the note and know it’s done and right but you didn’t just lose someone you loved. They won’t read it the same way. It will be out of tune, it will be a steel-toed boot in the head, it won’t make sense and to try to comprehend it will mean becoming as you are. Its lack of sense will do them quiet violence inside.

Those who lose a loved one by suicide become dramatically more likely to take their own lives. The ones you’re trying so hard to make no trouble for: you may kill one or more with your explanation.

The only real disappointment you ever cause will be in this act. This act, the first thing you’ve ever done for yourself and no one else; your final twisted response to the suffocated desire to be yourself, to be happy. It can bring no joy or peace.

What you can write, part 2

So you can write your note. It won’t work. It’s just not going to. You don’t have to decide tonight. You can just as easily try to write it again tomorrow. No matter the reason for writing it, you must agree, there is no real hurry in getting it done.

Crashing jets is flamboyant but ultimately a bad investment because, like bank robbery, it’s likely to cost you more than you gain. The average take in a successful bank holdup is $2,500 but the prison sentence if you survive capture is likely to be in the 10-20 year range. Destroying America is no different. You have to pick your endeavors to maximize your cost-benefit ratio.

We at Sedition·com know how hard it is to keep your priorities straight and how many excellent opportunities are hiding out in plain sight. So, for the terrorist on the go, we’ve taken the time to assemble the best possible instruction set for destroying America. We apologize for the dearth of colored charts and graphs.

Create a line of affordable luxury SUVs

This is a sort of game of chicken but it could pay big. If you provide huge cars to US drivers that look like BMWs and get 7 miles to the gallon, you’ll accelerate the depletion of Petroleum and the cycle of the US’s involvement in the Middle East. It might make things worse for the oilier Islamic countries for a time but it’s going to be doing more damage to the US.

The efficacy of this tactic is a matter of historical record best illustrated by Reagan’s destruction of Soviet Russia. Sure the arms race hurt the US but it hurt them a little bit more. That’s all that matters.

Join a country club

We have no idea how the belief that Jews are either well-liked or even really tolerated in and by the USA got started.

Buy stock in Philip Morris

Frankly, 3,000 dead is soooo open mic night. The frickin flu killed 35,000 Americans last year. Alcohol got 80,000. Even ladders, stairs, Drano^®, and Flinstones^® vitamins killed off 20,000 Americans in the same period. So 3,000? Pshaw! That’s prom-night.

If you’re truly interested in wiping out millions of Americans, Philip Morris is the answer. Tobacco killed well over 400,000 Americans last year. Besides, flight lessons and training are expensive, Philip Morris’s stock is not.

The US Department of Justice website

The DOJ has numerous resources that are terribly hard to come by most of the time. You can pick up your continuing education with the graciously provided PDF of an Al Qaeda Training Manual¹.

Vote Republican

We add nothing.

Become journalists

Don’t bother with small papers either; the New York Times will hire you if you’re ethnic enough and they don’t do anything much in the way of what other papers call fact checking so it’s porn for propagandists. Just ask the ghosts of the 5-8 million Ukrainians they and Walter Duranty helped usher to a better place. If for some reason you’re not ethnic, try Fox News.

The current terror alert level is

While the message reflects the spirit more than the letter of the law, the alert level is updated directly from the US Department of Homeland Security.

To display the current terror alert level on your own site, you can add the following HTML to a page.

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js"> </script>

Concept acquisition did involve the following generatives: Geek and Proud and by turn Wacky Neighbor. The Great White G’s original of course is a direct result of USA Today’s lusty attack on the public’s ability to assimilate information that isn’t color coded or contains too many words.

Update—Liberal and Conservative threat levels

There are now four new alert types available from Sedition·com.

You can also randomize the alert level above with this HTML.

<script type="text/javascript" src="http://sedition.com/threat.js?r=1"> </script>

One could argue that a random Terror Alert Level is not appropriate and might even be dangerous. One would, quite predictably, be wrong.

Technotes

Anyone interested in seeing how these work can learn all about it here: Passing JavaScript arguments via the src attribute.

This is a cultural anthropology project I am completing for make-up credits toward core requirements at my Community College. I hope to have my Associate’s in International Trash Fires this summer!

Abstract

I will sample the nationalities of individuals trying to obtain nuclear weapons.

Through analysis of the data I will show what citizenries of the international community are the most seriously bent on eradicating apple pie, Chevrolet, and blue-eyed Jesus.

Methodology

I plan to sample the nationalities, via point of origin of logged IPs, of individuals trying to obtain nuclear weapons. To accomplish this I will provide a “webpage” filled with terminology relevant to the building of nuclear weapons—as well as phraseology indicative of rapacity for mass destruction—and will match the referring query content (the “search terms”) against them.

To publish the results I will sample the statistics and present or update them in this “paper” at regular intervals; every 3 months for a year.

Expected outcome

I expect to finally have a sit-down with with Secret Service agents. I hope to tape the conversation to further another study I’m keen on completing.

Search phraseology

Kill Americans. Kill the fucking Americans. Americans are fuckers. I will kill all Americans. Die Yankee pig-dogs. I sort of like Americans but instead I will kill them—all of them, muaha-ha. Levis aside, America must go. America’s aid package to us was smaller than normal this year.

The United States should be destroyed. The United States of America must pay for her crimes. Burn America, burn. Bomb America. Bomb Washington, DC. Wheee! What are the easiest cities to bomb in America? Does Amtrak search luggage? Low security nuclear facilities. Strategic targets on the Eastern Seaboard.

I support Palestine.

I want to buy a nuclear bomb. Where are the best prices for nuclear bombs? Shipping rates for nuclear weapons. How to make a nuclear weapon with shit you find on the curb. What is George Bush’s home address?

Search terminology

Triton, ICBM, IBM, MX, Peacekeeper, Mk-12A, Sparrow, Atlas, X-11, X-10, Ajax, Trident, Chrysler Jupiter, B61-7, B61-11, Minuteman, ALCM, W80, M-80, SS-18, SS-19, SS-24, SS-25 (360), SS-27 (29), SS-N-18, SS-N-20, AS-16 SRAM, SS-N-23, SS-N-9, SS-N-12, SS-N-19, SS-N-21, SS-N-22, SA-5B Gammon, SA-Grumble, MSBS M4A/B, MSBS M45, Prithvi I, Agni I, Agni II, Dong Feng, Julang, Ghauri. Is that all you’ve got? What do you mean you’re out of Tu-160 Blackjacks? I just saw a guy walk out with one? Well can I get a Skiff or a Bear H6, at least? I’m going to take my business to Israel if you don’t get your manager right now.

Nuklier. Newclear. Nuke. Nuc. Nucular. Nyucler. Nuclear. Muffin sandwich. Weapon. Atomic weaponry. Weapons’ grade fissile materials. Fission. Primary reagent. Bi-product. Tertiary bi-product. Radiation. Rays. Alpha and gamma particles. Two atoms of Plutonium walk into a bar at high velocity. Ouch.

Critical mass. Nuclear mass defect. Neutrons. Moderator. Unstable nucleus splits, never calls.

Uranium-235. Heavy water. Make heavy water. Make water. Fluorine and Uranium Hexafluoride. Plutonium-239; how to avoid oxidizing Plutonium. Centrifuge enrichment. The ABCs of A-bombs, a step by step handbook. Nuclear Destruction for Dummies.

Advice from Edward Teller. Soviet yard sale. Ukrainian government auctions. Ebay. Chernobyl top soil. Andrei Sakharov rules!

Dirty bomb. H-bomb. A-bomb. Fuckin-a bomb. Neutron bomb. Fusion. Thermonuclear. Plasma. Magnetic confinement. Tritium. Deuterium. Gatorade. Nuclear detonator. High explosives. Core. Plutonium and highly enriched Uranium. I liked Cobalt-60.

Experiment results

To be provided after the first sampling period ends—approximately March 15^th, 2004—assuming an augmented version of the Taepo Dong isn’t ready and I’m still here to do it.

03/17/2004 The first report is in.

07/28/2004 The second report is in.

12/17/2004 The third report is skipped for lack of anything interesting to say about it. We’ll try harder for the anniversary.

6/19/2005 The fourth report… Didn’t I say something about trying harder? Uh, stay in school. That way you can end up like me. Won’t that be nice?

Real answers, real quick.

1. I’m not thin enough.

You’re not drinking nearly enough coffee.

2. I’m not not happy enough.

See #1.

3. I’m not getting enough sex.

Are you a woman? You’re not drinking enough alcohol. Are you a man? You’re drinking too much.

4. I’m not getting enough sleep.

You’ll get plenty when you’re dead and that could be tomorrow for all you know. See #2 to feel better about it.

5. I don’t have as many friends as I’d like.

See #3 and reverse sexes.

6. I’m insecure and always unsure what I’m doing is the right thing.

You need immersion therapy if you are ever to be happy. Quit your job, end all personal relationships, sell or burn your possessions, put your pets to sleep, and move to any square state in the American west. Start over and see how you do. If in another year you aren’t more sure, consider suicide. It will solve your problems but we only recommend it as a penultimate choice; right before moving to Arkansas.

7. I have a lot of shame and regrets.

It sounds like you already drink. We suggest you are not yet drinking to capacity. Try harder.

8. My girlfriend wants me to join her church or she won’t marry me.

What do you care? You didn’t really believe in your god, you can go right on not really believing in hers. It’s also a ready-made out should you decide on divorce and wish to remain blameless.

9. I break all my resolutions by January 10^th every New Year.

Don’t make resolutions this year. Fooling yourself is a poor hobby. Incidentally, everyone else can last till the 14^th at least.

10. Should I tell my partner I think I might have a venereal disease?

Definitely not. It means one of you was cheating. That’s a conversation no one wants to have. Break-up, then hit the free clinic. Your partner will figure it out, or not and get cervical cancer. Oh well, that bitch was cheating on you anyway.

11. What’s the best Christmas present to get my spouse?

We revisit #3 yet again. If you’re a woman, get drunk and do anything, anything you are requested to do. If you’re a man, stay sober and keep your mouth shut unless it’s to say, “I can’t believe how much weight you lost this year—you look better than Brooke Burke,” or “Don’t touch those dishes! I’ll get them as soon as I’m done with the laundry and the cat box.”

12. I’m a soldier in Iraq and I am having trouble making my expenses on Army pay.

Make sure you’re checking dead Iraqis for gold teeth. If it was good enough for your grandpa at Iwo Jima, it should damn well be good enough for you.

13. I wrote, “Someone should kill the President,” on a blog comment and now I’m scared I’m going to jail.

Don’t be ridiculous. Jail is for short sentences, usually misdemeanors. For threatening the President you go to prison. You’re lucky you didn’t write, “I’m going to kill the President,” “I’m planning on shooting the President,” or “The President will be dead by Christmas Eve.” Any of those would turn up in automated searches and have the Secret Service knocking at your door the next day. The SS has no sense of humor.

14. Ann Landers said I should try to get to know my new in-laws to help smooth our differences.

Ann Landers means well but she’s dead. Don’t take advice from dead people.

15. I want to start my own website but I don’t know anything about it, I have no design skills, and lord help me, I’m just not that bright.

I’ve got 2 words, no, 3 words, no, wait. I’ve got an “acronym” for you. PHP.

16. The contractor screwed us on our house project and he lost his insurance so we can’t get reimbursed.

This is terrible of course, however, do not take matters into your own hands. Unless you’re certain you can get away with it. After all, he probably did the same to other clients so the police will have a hard time pinning motive on anyone in particular.

17. I got a vaccination but I got the flu anyway.

Sue your doctor. If we can’t count on our medical professionals to keep us alive and disease free to 120 years of age, whom can we count on to do so?

18. I got into a flame war with someone on a BB and I feel too guilty about the things I wrote to go back.

Unplug your cable modem, let its parameter RAM clear, plug it back in, and you’ve got a new IP dynamically assigned. Start a new account on the BB in question. When you’re sure no one knows who you are you won’t feel bad. Guilt is tied to a sense of identity. Just erase your identity and you’ll never feel bad for long again.

19. My boyfriend thinks I should get breast enlargement surgery.

This is because he doesn’t know or doesn’t care what they will look like after 10 years. In other words, he is not going to marry you, and even if he does he won’t be around for the kids’ graduation because, presumably, his secretary will also take his advice over ours.

20. I think I might be a nymphomaniac and I don’t know what to do.

This is too important a question to address impersonally. Give us a call immediately.

21. I’m asocial and I just can’t seem to get through anything that involves other people.

Pick up some web-programming; build a web-site; wreck the lives of those you can neither respect nor endure. Now isn’t that better?

22. I took your fucking advice on #1–21 and now I’m a malfunctioning wreck.

The Pfizer corporation makes several extremely effective antidotes to reality. Pester your doctor about it.

I weep with you, my little brothers. Your pain is my name.

It just doesn’t matter, does it, that Baryshnikov had Jessica Lange in her breeding prime and scored like Wilt Chamberlain. At 10 years of age this fact is irrelevant. They will make you wear tights in front of an audience. The girl you like who has no interest in ballet will be there. She will see. A group of 13 year-olds, unconcerned with the inequity of prejudicial gender roles, will make you walk home the long way because they know.

I can save you.

Sneak out. Take karate and savate and ninjutsu and use your Christmas money to order the cocobolo nunchucks with a chain and ball-bearings. Ditch chess club to break fluorescent light bulbs behind the Wal*Mart. Catch a squirrel and let it loose at the Shakey’s during your next post-game pizza party. Learn to swear in Korean, Spanish, and Chinese. Practice your parents’ signatures for the day when excuse slips will be at a premium. Start a free range ant farm in your favorite aunt’s basement. Mix the Extra-Hot with the Mild picante in the refrigerator and ask your mom if you can have tacos for dinner the night the PTA is coming over.

And remember: When you are grown and moved far from the little community that punished you for even knowing what a leotard is, no one will remember. No one will know, even if your Grandmother is a ballet teacher to the very day. They won’t even suspect.

You waving a dismissive hand. He has anger issues. Highly unstable. I mean, what is there to be so angry about? Must be insane, at least disturbed, probably off his meds.

But why aren’t you angry?

The Pentagon cannot account for 2 trillion dollars in their budget. They simply refuse to publicly even try to figure out where it went. If you worked minimum wage to pay that off, you’d have to work for 194 million years. If everyone in America had to pay it off at minimum wage, it would take two years but as the Pentagon loses money annually it would be difficult to ever catch up.

Twelve more children were killed by Americans in Afghanistan for no apparent reason just a few hours ago but if I don’t “support the troops” with a pro-war stance, I’m somehow in the wrong.

Last week, some dead civilian—too stupid to stay out of a civil-war-zone in life—bumped a plane of dead soldiers heading home from Vietnam, to get full on military honors at the taxpayer expense just because the corpse was related to some guy named Dean who is running for President of the US in part on a position of not abusing the system.

This week, a 7-year-old boy in Louisiana was disciplined and assigned ongoing reprogramming in a “behavior clinic” for telling a school-mate that his mom was gay; which she is. School personnel Virginia Bonvillain and Terry Bethea narrowly missed becoming the next chapter in the dumb bitch series for it. Not for lack of qualifications, though. Mostly because I can’t keep using the c-word so much.

The US government is acting like heroes for digging up mass graves and catching Saddam Hussein in the murder of about 300,000 Iraqis during his 24 year run. The US government (George²), perhaps looking to better the figure, has already killed about 150,000 Iraqis in the last 12 years and is putting many of the former homicidal maniacs right back in power; Baathists who were torturing and executing the enemies of Saddam Hussein just a year ago are back in the game as police officers at the behest of the US.

So the question: Why aren’t you angry?

You can use all the canned ham and defensive platitudes in the world to dismiss anger. The reasons for it don’t go away by pretending there are no reasons. Your lack of anger doesn’t make you right, or even happy. It just puts another lien on your soul. Another reason for your children to hate you, because they won’t understand how you couldn’t have been angry. Another link in the ever growing 90-penny bracelet that no combination of ghosts is gonna be able to help you lay down.

At work on my desk I had most of the things that mattered to me. I had about 250 CDs, mostly good ones that are still selling, so that was about $2,000-$4,000 there. I had a CD player, obviously. Various toys, models. A sweet reproduction of a deinonychus skull. A beautiful blue 4" high carcharodon megalodon tooth. My prized full keichousaur fossil where you can see his last meal in his little ribs and everything. A handful of trilobites, spinosaur teeth and such like and so on. My whole collection. My personal laptop. A couple hundred bucks in technical books. Any number of other irreplaceable small personal artifacts from the reliquary. All right there on my desk. In a building with 300 employees, open 24 hours a day with little or no security. The lights rarely on because the place was lighted by desk lamps and creatively strung Christmas lights and Chinese lanterns.

I never had so much as a coprolite stolen. In fact, when my Kyuss CDs disappeared, I sent a note out asking for them back. Now I have two sets of them b/c someone returned mine and someone else gave me theirs because they thought mine might have been stolen.

In 1998. That was at Amazon.com in 1998. That’s what Amazon.com was like then. Most every desk in the place was like mine. Every damn employee in the house at that time had full SQL access to everything in the store. A new customer service representative could steal or even erase the entire Amazon.com store of knowledge (till the tapes were retrieved anyway) in just a few keystrokes if one wanted and knew how. There were never any breaches of trust then. Lord, I do miss it.

Right before I left, a few months ago already, there were several laptops stolen. Various other things. It was pretty bad. Everyone was locking their offices and even their desks. A long list of managers were each caught making up to $5,000 a month in personal calls on their corporate cell-phones while kids in the trenches of actually doing things for customers now need Director level approval to get a $150 software license for something crucial to doing daily work.

I read recently that 83% of the employed are not that happy with their situation and would change it if they could. Where Amazon.com is concerned, that seems a pretty kind estimate. The abhorrent job market in Seattle is all that keeps most of the shop in their chairs.

I still have about 20 friends there, though at one point I knew at least 400 people and counted many of them friends. One of the 20 still at the ’Zon recently said it this way:

My job seems more and more like the “Shawshank Redemption”–a daily ass rape marathon that will eventually end in a big payoff.

There’s nothing I can add to that.

I think you’ll admit, readily, yes? that the very worst thing, the really intolerable thing is the race traitor. The race mixer. Yeah?

I know you boys at the Aryan Nations, National Alliance, Christian Identity, Thule and so on would agree. Stop me if I’m wrong! The thought of your sister in a hip-hop video can’t feel good. The unknown pedigree of your step-dad must have itched like chiggers.

For your continued white supremacy pride, I offer this: if you or any member of your entire family has brown eyes, you are not white. There’s just no chance.

You might look white. Probably do. You might even really believe you are. But the simple fact is that if you have a single pair of brown eyes, or hazel, or anything but blue or green in the line then you have one in the wood pile, my friend. One second cousin, one great aunt. Maybe a full on quinteroon—born of Shongo or maybe Eshu—but as Louisiana once taught us, that much isn’t even necessary. 1/64th not-white means ain’t white at all. All it takes is a single 4th-great-grandmother. Say, she probably would’ve been around quite a few years before the Civil War. How about that!

You are descended from race traitors. Hell, even brown hair and freckles don’t look right, do they?

There’s a bright side. You could possibly still be Aryan. You wouldn’t know it b/c it involves learning but Aryan is a Sanskrit word. Sanskrit is a language from over there in one of those places you can’t find on a map.

But if you can’t live with the thought of that either, I think we’d all understand. If you really couldn’t live with it…why that would be great.

Thanksgiving dinner. I can’t remember why it came up. I used to be the most talkative one at any family function, mine or yours. But I was quiet this Thanksgiving until I told the story of being on the Rio Grande Gorge bridge when it took a lightning bolt and how much it hurt. It felt like having a lead helmet full of pins slammed down on my head. And the flash of light, though I’m fairly sure it was behind me on the other side of the bridge.

Julie’s cousin Tom said, “You’re really lucky you didn’t get killed.”

And I had nothing I could reply. How do you explain to someone that you spent the years between 15 and 22 persistently and enthusiastically trying to be struck by lightning? Getting out immediately and as long as possible into every thundershower in varying states of undress. Hurling threats and vows of love into the sky—to be fought fairly or collected home forthright.

How do you explain that you’d already been on the bridge for 30 minutes watching the electricity build. Watching the glowing motes on the tips of the dry hair under your hat and the sparks crawl on your finger nails. Hearing the metal of your knife buzz as it threw blue-white sparks whenever it was raised above the bridge’s rail—650 feet over the Rio Grande—the only significant piece of metal on the plain for miles. Waiting for the evening of forces; the unwinding of the sky. Run now! Or stand, last. Knowing this was the final and only perfect chance to return to Her or prove stronger than Him.

You don’t explain.

I had two important experiences with the headmaster, Mr. K. They made great bookends to my time in Korea. In my first week of employment at the Kuk Je International Language Institute, he nearly took my life. About a year later, in my last months of employment, I hurt him to tears.

My Si-sa Korean-English dictionary says Ki-bun (기분) means: feeling, sentiment, state/frame of mind. But I understood it to mean more; because feeling all right is more important to Koreans than Occidentals. So important that lying or manipulation or acquiescence is obligatory in support of everyone feeling right for as long as possible.

This can and did lead to a great deal of stress as the North American teachers wanted things up front while the managers, all Korean, wanted everyone to feel good even when something bad was coming a month or two down the road. No point in sharing it till the last minute. It would just make things harder than they had to be, after all.

My second or third day at the office my new boss, Mr. K, asked me to take care of some electrical wiring. There is nothing on my résumé to indicate I had that kind of skill but I happen to so I said, “Sure thing.”

I was wiring an outlet in one office to a plain old extension cord that ran through the wall from the next room (hey, it’s what he wanted). Customs didn’t catch my skinning knife (at 3.5" it’s probably legal in most countries) so I had no trouble scoring the wire to strip. I made sure the extension cord was unplugged in the other room and came back to strip the cord. As any electrician who’s lived a charmed life will tell you, there is simply nothing better for stripping wire than your teeth.

So I put the 16ga plastic coated copper in my mouth, bit down and pulled.

Mr. K had decided to help; to make sure things went smoothly. He had plugged the cord back in as soon as I left the room. So I stripped a live wire with my teeth. Fortunately, I’m only partially stupid—I had my lips pulled back and caught the volts in my thumb instead of my mouth.

His 45 minute welcome-lecture “Never Have Sexual-Intercourse with the Students” aside I knew Mr. K was a kind, well-meaning man. It was my first days in a year long contract in a foreign country. I didn’t kill him. I didn’t even act that mad. I know how to leave a room and count to ten so it never needed to come up again.

A year later—I’d been an expatriate for even longer—and things were getting a little flakey. I was drinking the export version of Early Times and playing “Doom II” non-stop all night for a few weekends to cope and unwind. No lie, I can beat that damn thing in one sitting, without dying, on any difficulty level short of the laughable “Nightmare.”

There was a nice young Kanajian teacher named Jason Blokhuis. I mention his full name so he’ll be good enough to drop me a line sometime. He’d started a school news-rag called the “Kuk Je Chronicle,” I think it was. It was done well but it made me a bit jealous as I’d just left a small publishing business behind. Instead of doing fun stuff like that, I was teaching 50 hours a week and doing lesson plans another 10. You can see how that was just one more thing that was weighing on me. Not because of anything Jason did, he was generally a prince and a damn fine breakfast chef besides.

So one weekend my roomie Ken was hanging around playing Doom with me in the office. We were drunk again. I mocked-up a phony broadsheet of the school paper with articles to get square with everything that was bothering me. Entirely satirical. Really pretty funny. Ken helped me with a couple pieces because it looked good.

We were done with the first issue of the “Kuk-Je Byung-Shin Hag-Won News.” Kuk-Je means international. Hag-Won means school or institute. Byung-shin means a few things, among them: retard. We laughed our asses off. The International Retard Institute. We felt better. I enjoyed the therapy and I was ready to be a little more sober, a little happier, and get back to living more and escaping less.

Ken took his copy, I took mine and we were never planning on showing them to anyone. Especially not any Koreans, friends or otherwise, because they just wouldn’t think it was funny at any level of intoxication.

As you know, God and I don’t get along. What happened was inevitable. Probably I left it on the printer but I prefer to blame Bill Gates for a latent print queue file making it out of the buffer after we were gone. However it happened, a copy of the satirical paper was left on the printer and given to Mr. K in the morning.

The punchline is better than you’re guessing. It wasn’t just cultural crossed wires, as it were. Mr. K’s son is autistic, I think. I’m not even sure because I’d been told about it a year before and never thought about it again. Byung-shin can translate as cripple or defective or, I suppose, autistic.

Mr. K was sure that the joke was made about him and his son.

I was hard hit because I knew how much he was hurt and there was nothing I could do about it. The culture bridge is just too narrow and weak to support the traffic it took to explain it. There is no way he could understand that Americans, especially stressed-out, intoxicated ones, absolutely will make jokes in poor taste; maybe even without meaning any harm. No way he would believe the joke wasn’t about him and was never meant for him to see. Watching him mist up with tears while refusing to hear my apology or believe my explanation almost made me cry. Watching him fumble with his own English to try to explain to me how awful this was…My God, I must have hurt him.

So I think you can see the moral of the story.

Get even early and utterly. Get even immediately following a slight and without mercy to ensure there’s no confusion as to who deserved what. If it’s a year later, you’ll be the badguy.

Your job title—when you had a job—was Internet Marketing and Strategy Program Manager. Or was it Vice President of Internal Communications? No it was Senior Manager of Information Architecture and Peer to Peer Systems, East Texas Region.

Why the hell would you assume that a reasonable marketplace would want to hire you to do such vapidly ludicrous clock-punching and back-slapping routine for $73,000 per annum plus stock, benefits, and all the expense reports you could get away with?

And the rest: Why the hell would you stay in any of the industries that Japan, South Korea, South America, China, Mexico, and India have been doing better and cheaper for almost 3 decades now? You had all the warning in the world. You had people walking around your block with sandwich boards printed, “Repent! The End is Near!” You had a severance package that would’ve lasted you through earning an associate technical degree if you’d been frugal. In short, you had the balls of Adam Smith on a silver platter and were arrogant enough to demand seconds.

When you can ask the world honestly, “What am I worth?” instead of flailing an arm in the air to get your chance to scream, “I deserve this and that…” When that happens… Ah, it’s all academic, I s’pose. Life isn’t that long.

Nothing happened today but that won’t stop me from garnishing the world’s knowledge base with another parsley sprig!

Isn’t it just fabulous to be American! Never having to endure 5 minutes of silence simply rules. I mean even that 1 minute of silence on September 12^th a couple years back—well, that was pretty hard to take. Thank God for the Internet. How else would you know I don’t have anything important to say?

Being able to write about this is probably the most fulfilling thing in life. And it’s so easy too. I think that’s what I like the most about it. No effort! Wow. I mean, if it was too hard to post this, I suppose I wouldn’t do it. I mean who needs the hassle, right? Thank God for technology.

Where was I? Oh, yes, hurting you, ever so mildly, either by implication or just wasting of 2 minutes of your own life.

Felt okay. Little disappointing really. Guess I could’ve worked harder on it.

In reply to the post of one Mr. A-Mixed-Race-Baby-Proves-I’m-Not-A-Gay-Racist-Doesn’t-It-Well-Doesn’t-It (oh, but I kid!) about the Nazionalista Public Radio network’s general programming—at least they haven’t called Carter a traitor this year!–I offer the following. And it’s offered at the IDENTICAL level of sobriety…

Sesame Street

I don’t know when they went soft and PC. Perhaps they hired one child psychologist too many and forgot that real little kids pull the wings off insects and are extremely curious about each others genitals no matter how much the adults plug their ears and go, “La-la, la-la.” They should be showing reruns of their 1970s shows because each new audience only watches for 10 years max anyway. And another thing, if they can stack the fucking Toys “R” Us to the rafters with quivering Elmos, they can damn well pay their own way and quit taking money from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

Jay Jay the Jay-bird, I mean, Jet Plane

The most thinly veiled, “it’s okay to touch yourself” message ever produced for broadcast in the upbeat, downbeat, upbeat musical number: “Wing Wiggling.” But it wasn’t enough that they convey the message to children that personal secrets are okay and “wing wiggling” isn’t wrong. They had to convey that everyone has such base needs and that they are best worked out in groups. The writers and animators of this show have psychological problems. Truly. Deeply.

Teletubbies

You think I’m gonna go after them. You’re wrong. This show is freakish, repulsive, and frightening only until you see it next to an 8 month old child. At that point it becomes fucking Shakespeare. There is nothing else on TV for the 18 months and under crowd (except Boohbah from the same producer, new below). The makers should get the Medal of Honor and a Nobel Peace Prize for the countless half-hours they’ve restored to the new, criminally exhausted parents of the world.

Boohbah

Again, this is only for very young kids but Anne Wood is an unadulterated genius.

Clifford the Big Red Dog

A couple young men shot and killed someone driving past their house recently. They are blaming “Grand Theft Auto” for the murder because, they claim, it shows there are no consequences for your actions. I disagree. In “Grand Theft Auto” you do get to kill, rob, visit hookers, and participate in other New York cultural activities but you have to fight constantly to live and stay free. If you stop running or changing clothes, the cops will shoot you to death or nab you. Nobody gets through that game without dying and going to jail many, many times. “Clifford the Big Red Dog” on the other hand is responsible for that murder and those boy’s attitude. It’s just one I’m picking out but many of these kids’ programs show irresponsible, dangerous, daily kinds of behavior without consequences. It’s their very mRNA.

Cyberchase

A really good show in some ways. Teaches logic, the rare gift that you either have by 10 or you basically have no chance of ever gaining because the American public education system won’t allow it. I wish this show were more entertaining. That’s its problem—not funny, not so fun. There is nothing wrong with mixing fart jokes with analytical thought. The first show that gets that might save the next generation from knowing there even is a minimum wage.

Reading Rainbow

Nothing to go after here. Anything that gets kids to acknowledge that books exist is a good thing. Slight whiff of desperation to avoid cancellation of his 19 year hitch from Mr. Burton is a bit unappealing lately.

Barney

Fuck!

Between the Lions

Now we know where Sesame Street’s balls went. I read a review of the show where a fellow said said people had called him a Nazi for criticizing the show. Those people were wrong to say such a mean and inaccurate thing. Disliking “Between the Lions” doesn’t make one a Nazi but a retard.

George Shrinks

This show is a great start to making sure children have trouble learning physics.

Caillou

Caillou, the brainwashed little Canadian special education cancer patient, reeks of pride in indoctrinating children to be good little room and plate cleaning automatons. It’s a perfect training-wheel training video for the Future Cube Farmers of America. You’re a good little bald boy if you do as your told and keep your imagination where it belongs, pent up for the day when you’re an experimental physician with a concentration camp full of children of your own.

Zoom

I only mention this show because I want to write about Caroline. There, I’ve done it and I haven’t broken any laws.

Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

This man died not long ago. February. All of the sudden it feels like it just happened today and I’m 6 years old again. It’s a testament to Bill Cosby’s class and grace that almost his entire acceptance speech for the “Bob Hope Humanitarian Award” was about Fred. No other man in the world has ever been more supportive of children, more aware of how scary it can be to be small in a giants’ world. No one else has ever been able to look directly into a television camera and tell children it’s alright to wet your bed and crap your pants, it has nothing to do with who you are. No one else will ever be able to make up for more shitty parenting in the world in just 30 minutes. No one else has ever told every child in North America that they are loveable.

Corporate hooks in the meat sponsorship

Much, if not all, of the PBS programming for children now has private corporate sponsorship other than the CPB. They get to air carefully crafted self-promoting missives in return. Among the many tag lines that squeal to be answered is AOL’s. Their sponsorship comes with the parental soporific: “AOL helps kids to find new things to be curious about everyday.” Yeah, that’s right, the Internet is a great place for kids to learn: “Mommy, what are ruby showers?”

If you would like to link a button from your site to Sedition·com or the Devil’s Dictionary X™, we would certainly appreciate it. Here are some pre-made buttons to choose from.

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For the fifth anniversary I’m taking a page from the top 10 mistakes of web design and providing a bio. That is to say, I’m correcting the mistake of having previously not provided one which was itself the mistake from the top 10 list of which I was speaking. I used to be a writer.

I think we can do this in a pretty straightforward fashion otherwise.

My name is Ashley. It’s a boy’s name along with Carol, Leslie, Gail, Jody, Shannon, Dana, and Vivian. I’m a fourth generation New Mexican. I dislike first generation ones. I’m 14 or 15th generation American. I like first and 500th generation ones just fine.

In college I worked a graveyard shift and managed a copy shop. A classmate who plagiarized my work got an English degree and an A- for doing so.

I get angry sometimes but it’s okay because I am sincere about it even when it’s a bit obtuse. One of my genuine pieces of sedition was passed around the CIA some years ago.

I taught English while drinking a lot of OB Lager and lemon soju from glass pitchers with breasts with Shawn and taking extra classes for a fellow named Tim. The photo is what I look like in I’chon-si, Kyonggi-do.

I hadn’t voted for a few years before 2004 and I don’t feel one bit bad about it. Though I do feel bad when I’m wrong.

Design is one of my skills. Medical advice is one of my hobbies. Lexicography is my true love.

I don’t write my friends as often as I should but then I simply don’t write for that matter and I’m not easy to be friends with anyway.

When I used to write, I wrote quite a bit of poetry, short stories, and such like.

I endorse having the greatest number of unoccupied females possible, so if there is anything I can do to encourage young men to be gay, I will and I do.

Yojo and Will used to beat me at chess but Bobby Fischer never did. Like you, I wanted to be an astronaut. I posted some lyrics about the Columbia that I think no one connected with the date.

I like girls who smile. Ever since that March you fell, I’ve known just how to make others feel better. I am an amateur theologian and have written some study questions for your bible discussion group.

In 20 years of diverse employment, I’ve only ever had one truly unpleasant manager but it was bad enough to make me quit and lose at least a quarter million dollars in doing so.

I loved all the 15 countries I’ve visited and they all loved America. That was a long time ago, though, as I’m sure you guessed.

Recycling is something I try to do and it goes hand in hand with my minor obsession regarding things by their proper names and answering the unanswerable.

Being nice is important to me, but being honest is moreso. The single most offensive thing I’ve posted didn’t get one piece of hate mail. I guess no one made it to the last paragraph.

Now you know everything about me except how to find the secret notes on many of these pages and my email address. Oh, now I’ve gone and done it. For petesakes don’t bother sending me any penis enlargement literature—I’ve been considering reduction surgery for some time. Now you really know everything about me and in correcting this top 10 web mistake, I’ve unfortunately entered into the realm of top 10 personal decision mistakes.

Your favorite writer,

–Ashley