The gatling guns, glistening like sun pierced wave crests rolling in one by one, line the border every hundred yards. Gunpowder still burns the nasal passage as you patrol the imaginary line under the broiler of the desert sun. Sweat beads up, hilts slide in the moistened hands of anxious and patriotic duty, yet we know no one will be sneaking in. No tunnel deep enough. No grappling hook can cling long and hard enough. If the attempt is made the shots will ring out from the cold steel and confetti will be made of the scofflaws. This is the border I envision, complete with aviator glasses and toothpicks mounted in mouth corners getting occasionally tongue rolled from side to side to pass the time. The long and strong arm of the law just waiting for the interlopers to impede our integral division with implosion and explosion all the while not speaking a damn word of English to assist in their attempt that most surely (in my world) would end in carnage, and I do not mean "oops he his down" shots made out of fear but rather the carnage brought about by Robo-cop in a meat processing plant spraying pellets of death ala Rocky and shredding sides of beef into jerky in seconds. Jesse Ventura's death scene in Predator comes to mind.

This past week has brought, one more time, to light the ever increasingly troublesome border with Mexico issue. Armando Garcia Arroyo (a surname meaning stream or brook - how ironic in regards to border crossing) was finally captured out side of Guadalajara, in the Mexican state of Jalisco, and is set to be extradited back to the U.S. for the April 2002 roadside slaying and brutal death of Deputy David March in Irwindale, CA. This murderer and meth dealers fabulous "home coming" had been delayed and postponed and snub nosed, much to the chagrin of the March family, due to the Mexican government's stance on the death penalty in respect to extradition. Mexico will not send back to the place of crime any criminal of Mexican birth right or declared national status if they face the death penalty. How ludicrous is this coming from one of the most corrupt "democracies" in the modern free world. Mexico seethes with bribes, brutality, torture, drugs, a blatant disregard of it's border to the North while protecting it's minute (in comparison) southern border from fellow Latinos immigrating (illegal or otherwise) from comparably dangerous dictatorships of Central and South America (i.e. El Salvadorian Mara Salvatrucha, MS-13, gang members), and a ridiculous leader parading around in bought off cowboy boots pretending to be America's friend as to reap the benefits of the illegal migrant workers who rape U.S. funds away from American workers(who don't want the jobs - HA!) and then, without paying taxes, send the money home to Mexico so he can line his pockets and the pockets of his Mexican corporate friends who are nothing more than fronts for drug trafficking and money laundering for terrorists. They might as well be called Corruptxico or maybe Crimexico, either name would be more suiting. Until just recently this "death penalty" clause of extradition was a conjoined sister to the "life without parol" exception that was over turned by Mexico's gracious legislature due to pressure from numerous U.S. government agencies, legislators, the March family, and the romper room mad house that I personally LOVE known as the John and Ken show and their following (kfiam640.com, L.A. 640 am). All of this heat under the pot of water reluctantly but finally boiled over, and since life without parole was considered "good enough" in regards to Arroyo, the peace slayer of the peace maker will finally find peace in an endless term of cold steel, concrete, and ass plumping behind bars. I, however, wish and hope that once we get that little grubby bastard of lawlessness back in our hands we give him death. I hope we crush him to death with slowly added granite stones one by one until his chest collapses (as the puritans did during the witch trials), that way as he lay in public suffering the unbearable weight of his crimes we can all stop by to scream at him and piss on his face. Even if Mexico would allow him back to face the death penalty we would not be able to fulfill my wishes, not even remotely, in light of the recent Morales death sentence/death penalty controversy, upheaval, and departure. I wish Sacramento would stop being the Schwarzenegger coined "girlie-men" that they all, quite obviously, are. Regardless, Arroyo is coming back to have the book thrown at him, which is the very least we should do in order to see justice prevail.

Life's lottery found my birth place here in America and not so long ago my ancestors fought for the right to come here and earned said right by learning english, studying our civic procedures and responsibilities, as well as trying their damndest to integrate themselves into the American culture and society in order to provide me with the well deserved right to be a citizen. They paid taxes, built business, bought homes, and contributed to the flourishing economy that then and now makes this great country thrive. We do NOT need amnesty to be granted to those already illegally working here sending home their stipend to support countries that undermine what we are and stand for by posing as "democracies" or "free" nations. This boil on our ass must be lanced as only when, within our borders, can we all really be Americans can we unite again as one giant patriotic lung breathing deep the air of freedom. Men and woman born from foreign soil must go through the same obstacle course to become citizens as the others do and have. The most important word in illegal immigrant is not immigrant, which conjures up images and visions of young Oliver asking for one "more" bowl of greasy sweat gruel that they slave away for in exchange for freedom, but rather ILLEGAL! This my friends, regardless of slanted and spun verbiage and P.C. catch phrases, is the "key" word. Say it with me, "ILLEGAL, ILLEGAL, ILLEGAL!". It means alot more when repeated loudly and focused on and well it is the truth. If you could not tell, I am very proud of my birth right and do not belittle it by selling or handing out the same rights and equality to people who disrespect it so much that they can't even attempt to learn the language or speak it in public. Even when I travel abroad I make an effort to learn two to three dozen phrases so I can get along with ease and being a tourist is by no means being an immigrant.

I know, I know, I know, by saying this I am a rascist. Nice kool-aid card, do not play it here. Rascist is a word demanding a little respect due to it's weight and should not be tossed around lightly in order to demean the gravity of it's intensity. It means something, so don't call me it when all I want done is the upholding of laws that are very much so right, legal, and well they are building block laws that form our nation, it's populace, and it's security!

I have plenty more to say on this subject but thought that the recent March Family victory was a good ice breaker on the topic. Until Wednesday when I wank, whine, and wince a little more I leave you with the widow Theresa March's words upon hearing of the apprehension of her husband's killer, "It's a great day!" ...

When running through a field of poppy's what do we really expect to find? Especially if they have rendered us unconscience for hours on end and flying monkeys are chasing us for a pair of fabulous red shoes that glimmer and glammer on. Am I inquisitively confusing myself with Marc Bolan or the ever effervescencent Ziggy Stardust or God forbid a gender bending mic chord around the arm psuedo-self-injecting Lou Reed dancing to clipper ships, and no that isn't a basketball reference. Is it a Vicoden nightmare where someone drops a house on my sister? No it is Southern California's modern day religious revolution with mild biblical injections of Kansas and Christ.Oh Toto, we ARE not in Kansas anymore, my dear sweet Roseanna.

Does anyone still read the USA Today? I think my grandmother and other octagerians might be the few, the proud, the readers. Between that and a thoroughly mind bending Jon and Ken interview of Fred Phelps today on the Jon and Ken Saturday Show (kfiam640.com, L.A. radio's finest), I have once again become afraid of the religious right which is mostly thoroughly wrong. I'll let Mr.(or maybe it is Reverend or Pastor or Father or some other term of quasi respect I refuse to offer this everclear guzzling hillbilly that shames anything good a good ol' boy stands for) Phelps speak for himself via the quotes found front page on his utmost offensive and bizarrely Hitler-esque web page entitled GODHATESFAGS.com. Hmmmmm ... Let's see there are topics such as: "Sodomy is an abominable sin worthy of Death", "Jesus Christ died only for those who Believe", "SODOMITES ARE PROUD OF THEIR SIN ("GAY PRIDE"), AND IN THAT PRIDEFUL STATE THEY CANNOT REPENT - YOU CANNOT REPENT OF SOMETHING YOU'RE PROUD OF", "THE SODOMITES' ONLY HOPE IS TO HAVE THE UNAMBIGUOUS TRUTH PREACHED TO THEM, AND PERHAPS GOD WILL SOFTEN THEIR HEARTS AND GRANT THEM REPENTANCE TO DEPART FROM THEIR SIN AND NAME THE NAME OF CHRIST. NOT VERY LIKELY, THOUGH, SINCE GOD HAS GIVEN THEM UP. " or the ever popular,"THERE IS A HELL WHERE ALL IMPENITENT SINNERS WILL RESIDE FOR ALL ETERNITY. THAT INCLUDES SODOMITES (CALLED "DOGS")." This is bone numbingly frightening. The kind of fear seen only in the NAMBLA victims eyes just before "consensual" sexual education, the kind of fear found in a dying man's heart of redemption when the only redeeming he has to do his the hatred of an overbearing, over controlling mother. Septugenrian salvage found only in the hearts of the unsure and flagrantly scared. Keep in mind these quotes are just titles to lead in bible passages found on the front page which is a "WARNING" page before you even enter his fabulous rainbow bright get along page of kill everyone but the messenger sense of preacherdom that is soooo commonly found in today's minister of the truth. Mr Phelps, or should I say shit sack Fred, insists that any other man holding sincere his duties to God that doesn't hold these old testament metaphors and "truths" as fact and words to make others live by is nothing more than a heretic and should be considered a three card monty shoe shuffle salesman of salad days and symphony ala Jim Baker or the satiable swinger satisfactory Swaggart. God give me back these days if Phelps is what it has become. This man and his troupe of looney tunes have been protesting the funeral of dead soldiers coming home from the valor of freedom fighting in Iraq in the heroin tar black body bags/cocoons of death by insisting insulting and insufferably saying that their deaths are a justifiable act of revenge by God for supporting a country that is nothing more than a "Fag Enabler". Again referring to the grand old testament of good ol time religium, Phelps says that faggot is a legitimate term referring to the kindling of cursed sinning rubble whom, via their sexually sinful and satanic choices of flesh forlornly filled full of fettered fecal facade, burn brightly in a cackling night of Beelzebub's cloven hoofed laughter of brimstone and truly evil glory. I suppose , as a side note this is how Brits mangled the lexicon of slang to having force fed "fag" as a cigarette in an abbreviated way of saying something awful is on fire (and then this leather collar drags me to the verbosely vile "flaming"of American street speech sling and slang). But I digress. Fifteen furiously fanny fucked fortnights of fortitude and frivolous frat fun ago Phelps led the same sort of protests at the funerals of gay men that had died of AIDS. What is the man's point? He claims that everyday he fights his battle pointing out that we are all wrong for even remotely allowing gay sex and homosexuality in our society without the repercussion of grand majority enforced death upon those who partake. He, when asked why he stays in a country that would allow this even if in back rooms and closets (never mind out in the open and as accepted as it may have become since the 1970's), responds by saying he is a true preacher sent into the bowels of Sodom to spread the word and not necessarily to save, and save he will not. Also another great point of delusional reflection the ass puppet made was that  the two planes flying into the Twin Towers on 9-11 were mere javelins of Gods fury being tossed into our sodomite seclusion to secrete from reality our sins (he also thinks Katrina was an act of intentional hatred on our holy father's behalf not G.W. Bush's). I day dream of this man, football in hand stroking the leather tanned hide and stitching saying simply and with profound emotion, "I love my dead gay son!". I laugh  as if I know I am in a state of sleep paralysis and know I will claim it to be alien abduction. The unexplainable and feared transferred into the asinine and ridiculous for comforts sake of accepting one's own insecurities and short comings.

You cruise the five freeway North bound, to higher lattitudes of where I am, headed to L.A. and pass the fabulous Crystal Cathedral. Robert Schuller's home of send me some money gleaming and glaring out into the freeways traffic as to suspend reality and tell us all that our slumber in the poppy fields is done (or is that poopy fields). "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?",  always crosses my mind. Maybe we all have a bit of witch's tit in us seeing as the world is so cold. Warmth is only found in the hearths and hearts of those with open minds, the minds that are able to cross political boundaries and religious referendums to realize we are all HUMAN.

I'll close with Zappa as he always does me "right", "There is a big difference between kneeling down and bending over". Someone please tax the God Damned churches. Til Monday when I address what I hope will be immigration and the importation of the March killer ...

The barber pole swirl of politics and art spirals, up or down depending on your vantage much like a spinning driving tire in motion. Our eyes glaze over and we fall prey to it's come hither motion. When done properly even the most degenerate and bald bowery bum will fork over the two bits for his piece of the action. However, if it is done in a tawdry, stale, and overbearing fashion we all flee and don our locks to lengths that would make Crystal Gayle look like a skin head " Oi! Oi! - ing" her way through a mosh pit complete with Doc Martens and a flight jacket. This is where, when and why I truly do long for Dr. Thompson to still be with us sticking one in the gut of intellect or Basquiat to still be alive and splattering paint on the walls of NYC not upon the NYC gallery walls.

The droplet down the stream ramblings, always with point in toe especially between the lines, of Hunter always had seemed to amaze me. I know, I know a Republican he was most certainly not but a Libertarian of sorts he was. When he ran for sheriff of his quaint little Colorado county, he proposed legal drug use, public gun toting, and the punishment for sale of drugs (or rather the ripping of someone off during that transaction) was public shackling. Interesting ticket for the Rolling Stone mad man. His earlier works pulsed with fever and ferocity found only within the electric mind of the one and only Gonzo but latter works such as Better than Sex (his Bubba Clinton escapades) or his online column for ESPN.com seemed to be lacking the magic wand effect he once waved in front of my black holed pupils of fanaticism.

The polar apexed opposite, in a way, would be Charles Bukowski's rants in the L.A. Free Press (Notes of a Dirty Old Man and Tales of Ordinary Madness). Some of these fabulous and deservedly free stories and reflections rank alongside some of his best work but when he starts rambling about beer vs LSD and T.V.  it becomes less of his art and a sort of forced newspaper publishing ploy to get advertising dollars for the failed Free Press. I would like to note that although I am conservative and Republican, Bukowski was and is a hero of mine. He is what got me writing by sticking the hot poker of reality under and up my ass and allowed me to be able to express myself. What is a conservative? A liberal who has been robbed. Makes sense to me and it seemed on numerous levels and from both sides to make sense to Bukowski. We should all take away from this aside that nothing is free. Not even the press in L.A.!

As if I am channeling Werner Herzog and taking a confined and finite topic and imploding into a miscalculated and misconstrued book report we can all say the dog ate after being bored to tears into a state similar to good ol' Walt Disney or the honorable heat deprived head of Ted Williams, I shall remind you that I do have a rhyme to my reason, a method to the madness, and of course a point to make. Here it goes. Reading about the trapeze act of international politics lately and well the Olympics being in Torrino I figured it my place to disassociate myself from a conservative from Italy. He is no brother in my band, no bearer of goodwill and ideas on my behalf. This "man" does not represent what I stand for as a conservative. He is: Silvio Berlusconi, Prime Minister of Italy, and is nothing more than a heavy dose of Mussolini and Most Extreme Challenge siamesed together at the groin but without the catchy overdubs on either account. God, I hope he DOES get eliminated. This infantile peckerhead, as Prime Minister, controls the three major government run T.V. stations and then has controlling stock in the other three "public" stations. Parading his philandering libido and over reaching dictatoresque idiocy around on all the channels, no one can get an word in edge wise nevermind an actual chance at whooping his closed circuit wanna-be Al Jazeirra ass at the polls. He owns one of the most successful soccer teams in Italy and used this billionaire vantage to exclaim, "Before trying to compete with me,try, at least, winning a couple of national championships!" as a response to being question about economic policy by economist Luigi Spaventa. Can you say complete Nimrod, Ninkumpoop, or just plain Nit Wit! He has, during the current election race finish lining in April, compared himself to Churchill and Napoleon and is quoted as saying, "I am the Jesus Christ of politics". This man is the Prime fucking Minister of the country the God damn-we-want-no-blasphemy Catholic Church lays it's lazy head! Breathtaking, no wait I mean breath robbing. I should not be surprised though since Italy loves electing and supporting complete insanity into power. Let us not forget, in an effort to prove that "everyone" should be able to run for politics, Cicciolina the porn star made member of parliament (too much info there just Google her name and read for yourself!). Who, after accomplishing virtually nothing to the cheers of the "average" Italian, conceded her seat to some other ass. My mind boggles over the madness. When combining art (t.v., poetry, movies,novels,music) and politics all i can refer to is the Werner Herzog quote, "Our Grandchildren will blame us for not having tossed hand-grenades into T.V. stations."

Sometimes I do not have a point but rather a vent for the flame and fever built up in me as to what has happened to T.V., literature, print media and the motion picture industry. Should art and politics mix? It should but with kid gloves and not under the guise of "truth" as it does today. Leave editorial to the Op-Ed page, make sure talk radio and talk news shows are just that and not taken as undeniable truths of fact. Herzog said, "facts are H2O, whereas truth is water." I like that idea. Even though I know I am on a Herzog bender tonight I think if we gave some of his quotes a little more attention and a little bit deeper thought than we could apply that to some of the inconsistencies we find everyday shaping our minds and forming our opinions for us while making cloudy, and murky black, the division between truth and fact.

Point or no point? Purpose or waste of everyone's time? Not for me. Even with no one to read or listen, I ramble on. It is what these liberal iconoclasts and their ideas have taught me. In order to have new and fresh ideas sometimes a good break and a healthy dose of blah blah blah is needed in order to address the real topics at hand. By attacking a "conservative" who I think is out of line (even if he is foreign) allows me to re-examine my role here, in America, as a Republican, and foremost a conservative. I needed this post and the last one to yada yada yada about the media and have a reaction. To be able to process and really think about the very very important and impactful current events. To research. To investigate. To talk to other people. Most importantly to listen something we ALL are guilty of neglecting.

Til Monday when it is back to politics as usual or unusual depending on whose green grass you are standing on or smoking ...

Many a wax colored candy lay impotently in my dish of topics on this, the more mighty of humpdays as of recent. I could rattle about, like a talking head, pro or con regarding the evil or not so evil U.A.E.'s proposed "taking control" of our ports. The "Broken Bridge Fifteen" could swim up onto the broken bridge of my synapsis as I type and pontificate, or simply bitch as some of you would consider this blistering blender blog of open thought and idea to be. My passport could be stamped once more as I enter the Island of Shamefull Corporal Punishment that I gleefully bask on the beaches of from time to time and strike up a summer vacation conversation of sorts regarding the dufunct California justice system and the clear sense of execution that they now pitifully find themselves bereft of. Someone, please, kill Michael Morales ... maybe Kevorkian? But as I sifted, scenically swaggered, and sailed through the pages of The Financial Times (Saturday February 18th/Sunday February 19th weekend edition), I came across something that, well to put it bluntly, pissed me off more than that God damned, going to hell to rot upon a torture rack of blood licked whips and sinister skin splitting torture (complete with stinking stones weeping greenish drops) Bryant Gumble. Am I the only person he consistently pisses off?

A fabulous little pee-on of a mental midget named Trevor Butterworth had a transparently ignorant piece that (obviously via fellatio performed by his smug little grimace) had found it self on the front page of the FT Weekend section and, as most starving back alley whores consuming more than they can handle in a blisteringly belimic buffet minute, ate up two whole friggin' pages of what I consider to be one of the most respectable papers that is worth perusing and pursuing in modern print. His topic and title was "Blogged Off" and well after reading with piqued interest I was. He starts the piece poking fun at the Gawker squad, of blog infamy and introspect, by pointing out their Vanity Fair photo spread was a sort of an inflamed hypocrisy of their anti established media (although this is not one hundred percent correct on the surface) hatred and defiance.  He continues on with his very "intelligent" piece weaving us this way and that through the history of blogging (like the beer guzzling snake of Adam Sandler's comedic fame i.e. the Buffoon) and all of it's short comings and isolationism in the Western world due to it's over use and abuse. He sites the Dan Rather capsizing as the epiphany and peak performance of the medium (as he points out to us time and time again it is a medium not a media). That might be the only point I agree with. I am quite happy it is not the "media" with it's liberal shit slide of a slant so ineffectively reporting truth. He then rambles on into interviews with Choire Sicha (a Gawker insider) as well as Ana Marie Cox (of Wonkette fame) who both are pictorially featured in this ass wipe rubbish dump trying to be passed off as reporting. The creme de la creme, the creme fresh if you will, is found towards the end of the article as he does literary back flips and flops to say that you, as a blogger, will never find economic stability fumbling around in the proverbial bra-unbuckling backseat of the blogosphere. So how does his judgement about Vanity Fair notoriety play into this pile of puckey that I sorted through again and again looking for consistency? It doesn't. He is an insecure little weasel content doing his little opinion pieces, along with a photographer and I am quite sure some sort of per diem, while collecting his salary and fearing that someone better and not cut of the proper elitism media cloth will take his sorry excuse for a job. Tsk - Tsk Mr. Butterbuns! Your syrupy drizzle of diabetic seizure to try to ensure your position as a Svengali and blatant progress monger will be shunned and shuttered at as upon seeing your name in any by line will result in a napalm bath of literary inferno preventing me from reading the pages as they burn in the trash. I honestly hope your co-workers pay attention, kick your ass at recess, and call and tell your mom that you suck (since you appear quite juvenile, you should be treated as such). By the way you should take point from a real writer on your FT staff: Lionel Shriver! He can write a column. If you want to bring up literary giants to site your political views or basic view points (by bringing up the question in your conclusion of wether or not Karl Marx or George Orwell would blog) please examine how the professional did it in his FT Weekend review ( Saturday February 11th/Sunday February 12th) "Hip misanthropy hits the spot at 16 - not quite so Now" about Vonnegut maybe you can learn a lesson and maybe if you can not and discontent with your work grows you can always fall back on blogging!

"I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all Summer", were the auditory echoes pinballing through the cranium and ear canals of Henry Halleck when spoken quite succinctly and elegantly (as well as inebriadetly) by Ulysses S. Grant on May 11th, 1864. I reverberate this idea while standing high, tall and proud on my blog-box. A line has been drawn in the e-sand. I am no gas station fool that would rather pump for Mein Kampf than speak my own mind and shutter and shatter the written and spoken word with my ideas (as in "Wind up working at a Gas Station" by Frank Zappa). There should be no media Beltzen forcing it's inmates into a sick psycho submission of shame and hatred. Regardless of the liberal media's conservo-star, I will continue to speak my mind and I do not need to do so for profit or fame with a two page story full of garbage and literary refuse.

Regardless of Butterworth, Butterbuns, or Butterballs there will be no turkey or syrup here, as I am very much so assured of due to my own intellect and ability to express it. Come Friday we will rejoice together again or maybe after this it will just be me but proud I will stand straight and tall in my little e-world ... 

 

 

Execution brings about goose pimples and horrible feelings of hesitance, moral question, and an overwhelming feeling of doubt and introspection. If you know where you stand, and some of you never will know where you stand even if just on a physical basis, then maybe you are filled with less of these questions. I have none of these. I know where I stand, especially in regards to the death penalty. I know so well where I stand that I honestly believe we should have these little morbid repercussions of our ever growingly more violent, obscene, and gruesome choices be televised so all can see. With a big tub of popcorn and a sugary carbonated beverage of choice to wash away the salt, can we watch this natural progression and omnipresent force of consequence that is justice lay down it's powerful fist of fury and take back what has so cruelly been taken. If you are a fence sitter on this subject or even secretly doubt where you stand based on the questions you ask yourself late at night when no one is looking and no one can hear, then this little televised drama of monster theatre will certainly knock your indecisive ass to one of either side and you will finally be forced to make a choice and stand so proud with it that even your neighbors will question what has happened to you , granting that they did not watch the, no pun intended, life changing event.

Tonight my fine, and sometimes pathetically liberal (even if I live in orange county the birth place of Nixon and undeniably most conservative county in the country), state of California will execute Michael Morales. At 12:01 am February 21, 2006 this pathetic gunny sack of crap will be tied down and ended as he justifiably should be. Beyond the scope of Kenneth W. Starr, yes that Ken Starr, his newly appointed quasar of hope in a universe of desolate black holes and quantum emptiness is the fact that this man is a cruel and depraved beast searching, as they all do, for redemption for acts so gruesome that mentioning them make me shiver more than the mentioning of his peacefully sedated slumber into the netherworld. This man, Michael Morales, planned out how to help his cousin with the finalization plan for a quarrelsome interloper that threatened to impede his cousin's bi-sexual liaison and overall sense of deceiving misinterpretation of his self to this wondrous 17 year old human being of goals and aspirations. Michael, as I can not and will not refer to him as Mr. anything unless Mr. is followed by well deserved death receiver of unsatiable horror, actually practiced on female friends as to how the ensuing terror would play out. Who the hell are these pathetic little tramps of attention? Obviously they are in need of father figures and a bit of faith beyond their gangland drug benders and infatuation with the criminally insane. Michael sat in the back seat of the cousin driven vehicle as the unsuspecting 17 year old soon to be victim got in and hoped to go shopping. Michael introduced and a new route taken to a different shopping location led him to wrap a belt around her neck in order to strangle all hope and life from her innocent existence. Even if she was going to dive head first into an empty pool of love trist, she did not deserve even this mild introduction to what was to come nevermind the final outcome. After the belt snapped and she was repeatedly hit in the head with a hammer, she was still not dead. I would like to point out that Michael didn't just candy kiss her with the blunt force frontal lobe activity ending side of the hammer but rather the break your skull into fragmented chunks of incapacitation end, the CLAW. After this he, as with all of us on a really hot premeditated date of death, thought rape was  in order and proceeded with such deplorable acts of inhumanity. Then after stabbing her four times in the throat she was dead and never again seen from all that would have loved to stand tall during this act and protect her with their love and familial sense of respect and compassion. This is the man and his acts that, the big ol' bad ass of morality, Ken Starr would like to see spared. The governator told him to blow it out his ass. Thank you Arnold, on the topic of clemency and execution you do do something right. The clemency application with six juror signatures of regret for the death sentence (five of which were forged by some dumb bimbo paralegal trying to fight for justice - or was it notoriety?) and one forged recant of testimony should have been set on fire the second ink was laid to paper. Tonight  the not so sweet prince will die and we are going to have to flip the bill for an anesthieologist to ensure Michael's unconscience state after chemical one sears through his veins to make sure he can not feel the pain he so surely impacted, inflicted, and incapacitated his victim with. Are cruel and unusual punishment lawsuits meant to be cruel and unusual to the victim's family? Obviously so.

California is no stranger to this "hot" debate. Last month on January 17th, 2006 we executed Clarence Ray Allen. The "I'm too old to die" inmate on death row said his last words would be "Hoka Hey" and they were not. I guess it was not a good day to die that particular day. In jail since 1977, for murder, he was sentenced to death in the early 1980's for commissioning the death of three men outside the fabulous walls of the state prisons accommodations. Billy Hamilton is awaiting his death for carrying out these three murders and I have popcorn and crisco waiting. Hopefully we will bring back hanging for that one. But alas we can not bring back that gem of finality and that was brought to light again two weeks ago when on February 8th, 2006 Mitchell Rupe died of liver disease complications in a Washington prison. After killing two bank tellers in an Olympia bank robbery, at point blank range mind you, he began to serve time and consumed over 6,000 calories a day. Aren't there starving people somewhere or is that another liberal contradiction? He got so big that hanging was ruled as cruel and unusual punishment becasue his head would pop of if dangled like a g- force pinata down the hatch at 9.8 meters per second per second. Lesson learned: physics works in favor for festering fat fucks with a little creative initiative. God show no mercy on that fat son of a bitch and cast him well beyond the ninth circle of Dante's hell.

Which ironically enough will bring us to the modern day Mickey Mouse, Tookie Williams. Executed two months ago here in the fabulous home of Disney, this dumb drugged out deceiver of resume, as well as Nobel, has become a friggin' folk hero. Chock full of P.C.P, yes another idiot blaming drugs for his actions not his choice to take them, he went on a murdering rampage killing an innocent 7-11 clerk and a family of three Asian- Americans at the hotel they owned. He bragged, he knew details of the crimes only the purveyor would know, he made fun of the blood gurgling noise made by the victims some of which shot at point blank range. He falsely claimed to be the co-founder of the Crips street gang - responsible for hundreds if not thousands of murders nationaly, to have worked out with Arnold Schwarzenegger on muscle beach in Venice, all of which were truths bent through the light of sympathy begged for. He was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize (as was Yasser Arafat the vaginal birth giver to modern day terrorism) for his children's books that taught kids to stay away form drugs and gangs. Supposedly he had steered clean 100's of thousands yet no proof could be presented. Hell, Jesse Jackson, one of his main defenders come camera time, couldn't even name the four victims that Tookie the savior had brutally stolen life from. This man masticated souls and spat them out into a spitoon for all to turn their stomachs at and then sought redemption via Hollywood and Jamie Fox. Getting a Nobel nomination is not hard. L.A. radio station personality William Wolf Handel ESQ. did and he is one of the most blunt in your face non P.C. guys out there. Just proves it is truly who you blow and know. Just to shed light on the Tookie warp - Austria took down the name of a stadium dedicated to Schwarzenegger and proposed to put up this murders name in place. I thought Euro-Disney would have been a great place since they do no friggin business anyway. They could have "buddha head mountain" ( a referance to what he called his Asian victims), Mr Gurgles Wild Ride (after the noise he poked fun of),  It's a Wet One after All, The Haunted 7-11 (after one of his victim's place of work). It would be fabulous place of demoralization and depravity where you can leave with your "Captain Crip in 3-D" T-shirt so all can know you side with letting murderers live and write books as oppossed to having justice served. By the way where were the mass media protest whores for Clarence Ray Allen and for Michael Morales or is that type of media prostitution only reserved by the Rev. Jackson and Mike Ferral when black violators of justice and the commandments are at hand?

In 1928 in the "Big Apple" of New York city there was an execution of a hardened violator of life and his last words were proof of the insensitive and reckless disregard for human life that conservatives are so commonly and easily made to adhere to as a stereo-type. His name was George Appel and his final statement was, "Well, folks you'll soon see a baked Appel". How fitting and disrespectfully appropriate. I wish I had been there for the dimming lights as my lights dim here for bed and preparation for Wednesday's rant ....