Bush Vows Attack on Librarians

resident Bush shocked and awed the nation's library employees this week with tough talk about a possible U.S. intervention into the current librarian situation. Apparently confused by developments in the African nation of Liberia, where a rebel insurrection has left the war-torn country in chaos, Bush vowed to use any and all means necessary to bring America's 20,000 librarians to justice.

These latest statements brought even more scrutiny upon the beleaguered CIA, an organization that has obviously shared precious little of its intelligence with the president during his term, and possibly since birth. Bush thrilled sports fans everywhere last week by passing the buck like John Elway on crack, blaming the CIA for failing to slap the stupid out of his mouth before he could make misleading statements regarding the Iraqi threat during his State of the Union address.

In response to the latest shit shower to hit the presidential fan, the White House also claimed that the wet-nurse organization had failed to prevent the president from making over 1,722 embarrassing statements since coming into office; 1,723 if you count the recent librarian gaffe.

"Anyone who's listened to the president speak, either publicly or privately, knows that the CIA has been shirking its duties to a perverse degree for quite some time now," stated White House spokesman Scott McClellan.

"More than any other recent president, Mr. Bush counts on the Central Intelligence Agency to make him sound intelligent," explained U.S. National Security Adviser Condoleezza Rice. "You don't hear anything about a Bureau of Acting Tough or the National Registry of Down-Homeisms, do you? That's because the president has those bases covered. And how. Mr. Bush does not, however, come from an intelligent background, and that's where the CIA is supposed to come in. These people are paid well to keep the president from using terms like 'fucking towelheads' or speaking with his mouth full of salami, and today it's clear they have dropped their duties like a greased bowling ball."

"I think I've got pretty darn good intelligence!" defended the president, speaking up from across the room while wiping barbecue sauce on his bib.

"The CIA definitely cleared the use of the term 'misunderestimated' in that speech the president gave last year, and 'uncontranationary' as well," McClellan detailed, reading from a list. "Likewise with 'learnworthy,' 'economal' and 'immigrater.' Plus any references to the nations of Urethra, Pillsboro and Spam, which do not exist. That was the CIA too. And when he said his favorite Beatles song is 'Lucy Is This Guy That I Know.' Total CIA all the way."

Regarding the president's baffling recent statements about the nation's librarians, Rice was outspoken in Bush's defense.

"The president did not knowingly say anything that we knew to be false, as he didn't know what he was saying. It is not the president's practice to speechify any falsic statement. All these countries and people with funny names, who can keep it straight? Intelligent people sometimes even have trouble," Rice elaborated, apparently with full CIA clearance.

"The president also didn't knowingly know anything he didn't know, and knowing what he knew didn't knowingly know any non-known knowledge," Seussifed Rice further. "Oh, and the CIA also cleared President Bush's impromptu recital of the tongue twister 'Pickled Peter's pecker poked a pooter' during his visit to Africa this month," Rice added on the fly.

Early reports indicate the nation's librarians, knowing Bush to be serious, have taken conservative spit valve Rush Limbaugh hostage in a pre-emptive strike.

Popular TV Clown Robertson Delivers Weekly Outrageous Banter

Nation’s Three Remaining Liberals Turn to Humor to Survive

Arizona Border Patrol Installing Landmines

Eminem, Ex-Wife Reunite to Work on New Material

it's overtones, there's some kind of tone problem, of that much I'm sure. Maybe I wouldn't be right in referring to it as an "article" when it's more of a "ranting letter," but it's very chilling to realize.

The writer of this letter, Earl Chico of "Behind the Walgreens" (as the letter signed), suggests that CDs are nothing more than tiny records. I hadn't thought much of it before, but once this was brought to my attention I rifled through Ramrod Hurley's CD collection and studied each Enya and John Tesh offering closely. By God, Chico's right! They are tiny, circular, there's a hole through the middle, they're flat, and they're played through an expensive piece of stereo machinery you can purchase for high mark-up. I can't tell you how surprising and unsettling this has been to me.

I have never enjoyed recorded music, hence the live band I keep on staff at the commune offices to play my favorite tunes whenever I beckon. Some complain they interfere with the work of the staff, but when Nacutchacokov wants to pay all the bills maybe I'll start taking his big fat advice, until then I run things my way. But I stray like a wife longing for sexual satisfaction from the topic.

CDs and records are basically interchangeable—what does this mean to you? If you're like other Americans and have spent countless dinero replacing your LP collection with squat cassette tapes, then replacing those with CDs, you've been screwed. Screwed hard! "Ouch, quit screwing me!" I say to the recording industry. Not me, of course, given my distaste for recorded music I've mentioned, but you, they're screwing you. Still doing it.

The fact is "digital" technology is no more real than the time machine. Sure, it's a nice fantasy we've come up with, but until scientists conquer the quantum field theorem we're not going to have real digital technology. I could explain that further but I'm afraid it would take up several thousand columns and I don't plan on living that long. Suffice to say all we're using now is the height of analog technology.

From my research into this, which has included asking several session bass players and drum programmers, CD making merely involves recording vinyl LPs at full size and then shrinking them to CD size. The most expense involved, compared to the making of an LP, is not the shrink ray technology, which is fairly easy and inexpensive, but in painting the LPs with silver reflective paint.

Why all the trouble? It takes no elaborate imagination to explain that, readers. Money, pure, green and sexy. Why would anybody buy a 30-year-old Dylan record they kept in pristine condition if the technology never changed? With all this talk of "digital technology" and "re-mastering" and such they can sell you a copy of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band six or seven times over. Why "CD" itself stands not for "compact disc," it's all an insider joke. "Collectin' Dinero," readers, that's the truth.

It's not over yet. It'll never be over. The next logical step is selling you "Super CDs," which will again just be analog LPs in shrunken CD form they've enlarged to a giant size with Expando Ray technology, which is what they're working on now. Shrinking things is easy—restoring them to full size, aye, there's the rub, to quote Shakespeare, or Lil Duncan.

So while America continues its love affair with throwing their money down the toilet on recorded music, I clap my hands and the commune office band plays "Purple Rain" while I sit back, laugh, and point my proverbial finger. Which is basically my regular finger. Ha.

º Last Column: The Police Are Racial Profiling Rich White People
º more columns

I just returned from that commune retreat thing, where I had a lot of fun. I know everybody else got back about three weeks ago, but like I said, I was having fun. As far as I'm concerned, I decide when the retreat is over. It's not very cool to invite me to a relaxing retreat and then decide I'm relaxed before I decided.

But it worked out pretty sweet. I had a lot of fun, set fire to a few things, got into a few scrapes with wild animals, all the things a good vacation should be. I had a chance to do some real soul-searching, and scored a few wallets, too. It's not very Bricksian, I know, but I had to ask myself where my life was going. No car, no love in my life, working for the commune—some people might consider those things setbacks. All in all, I'm happy, don't get me wrong, but since I don't have a family, I thought maybe it was time I did something to gain me some immortality points.

Now, I know a lot of people can do different things for immortality—paint pictures, donate money to hospitals for a building in their name, or spray paint your name on a wall. But I wanted to do something with children, since the courts are always telling me I've got a lot in common with them. Kids are cool, unless they're complete shits, but you have to make that distinction on a kid-by-kid basis. So I wanted to give back to them. Help shape the future by doing something today. Or not today, you know, but in the next couple of years or whatever. Introducing (drum roll) Camp Bricks!

You heard right, boys. Camp Bricks. I got the idea while we were on that retreat, how it was almost like a really boring touchy-feely camp for adults. But being close to the woods brought out the real Omar, and I thought if I could do that for kids, that shit would kick.

Well, I suppose I also got the idea partly from Meatballs, 1 and 2. 2 was pretty crappy, but it wasn't too bad. 3 was awful, so I wouldn't want my camp to be like it at all. Mainly I just figure kids need a place where they could come and get into races and all sorts of athletic competitions against rich kids and find a way to win using their own weirdness to their advantage. And they can talk about jacking off and swim across the lake to hang out with girls and stuff. I wish I had the chance to do some of that stuff when I was a kid. I could swim across the Hudson River if I wanted, but that's got a pretty strong current. And there were plenty of girls on this side of the River to hang out with, so it seemed pretty pointless.

Kids need a way to build up their self-esteem. If you watch shows about kids these days they're all idiots. They dress like they get prizes for conforming and they worry about getting into college when they're 9. That's bullshit. I say if you're not on a first-name basis with a court's juvenile case worker, you're not getting the full childhood experience. They need a role model, and I don't see why it can't be me. Anything's got to be better than those Malcolm in the Middle posers.

I should say that I won't be messing around with teen-age girls. Anymore. Fool me once, shame on me, all that, and the cops are watching me pretty closely about it all. But I figure I can take care of the boys, there's got to be someone cool enough to handle the girls out there. Not that I'm against dressing up and pretending to be a counselor named Edwina. If nothing else, it would make a really good chapter of my autobiography, and they could make it into a movie called Big Sister, but right now I'm strictly looking for the genuine female variety of counselor. Let me know if someone cool comes to mind.

º Last Column: Black Host Down
º more columns