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Killer Killen Tried for KillingsJune 20, 2005
Philadelphia, Mississippi
Whit Pistol
Accused killer Killen is brought to the courthouse with shackles on his wheels, to prevent a flight risk.
T
he trial of last century is making all the news in Mississippi and nowhere else, as the racially-motivated murders that inspired the film Mississippi Burning are underway after a lengthy ignoring of the whole thing. It took a little time to build a case and find a non-racist jury, but after 41 years, Edgar Ray Killen is being given as fair a trial as the white man's legal system will allow in a Philadelphia, Mississippi court.

The accused killer Killen is on trial for the premeditated murder of civil rights workers James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner, who came to the town to aid in black voter recruitment. The accused was originally tried in 1964, but the jury deadlocked and couldn't decide whether murdering a Negro and two Jews was a crime in Mississip...Read more...


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January 5, 2004

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Witness the Healing Power of Protection

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, otherwise known as a bad news bear, but this will be the last Giving You the Finger column for quite a while.

Yep, you read right. Why? you may ask, with my permission. I'll tell you: Because starting with my next edition, in this regular space, you'll be reading Giving You the Bellmont.

I do not jest, not even for fun, but especially when it comes to my column. Giving You the Finger is no longer possible, as Felchyana and I are now in the Witness Protection Program, following our late-December feeling to the FBI. For all intents and purposes, Rok Finger is dead. I'm not sure how he went, my money was always on being fatally shot on the subway in a dispute over a wheat penny, but I'll let the FBI handle those fine details, that's their show. This column is now coming to you courtesy of Godfrey Bellmont.

Before you start hem-hawing about losing such first-rate name material as Rok Finger, I promise you it was the only resort left. The mob was quite angry at me, even before I turned state's evidence, county by county. It was only a matter of time before they tried to kill us yet again, only more successfully. I talked to Felchyana about it, long and in-depth, and she called me a perpetrator and said my rhymes were wack. As you can see, her fondness for gangsta rap hasn't quite passed yet. But I took her insult of my lyrical science as agreement we needed to get away, and the FBI was our best shot. ...Read more...


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June 23, 2003

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One Busy Summer

In the world of show business, things go from boring to frenetic overnight. This also applies to my life as of recent. One minute I'm volunteering at soup kitchens just to get out of the house, then my phone is ringing with work and so on. Which is great, the soup kitchen thing wasn't what I thought anyway—you believe people volunteer to serve the soup? They tried to tell me they already had more than enough people to eat it all.

But the work, the work! It's true what the Fixx said, one thing leads to another. I get a call from Vic-O Smith-Smith, one of the convention geeks who kept trying to get me to read his script last year. I told him I would, then when he asked me what I thought of it, I told him I thought it had its moments—he totally fell for it. Anyway, Vic-O asked me if I'd be in his movie if he ever got the money to do it, and I said sure, thinking no one would give this chunk money. Well, I was right, but it turns out he got hit by a Brinks truck and sued for big-time bucks. Vic-O called last week, as I said, and said the part was mine if I wanted it.

I played it cool and told him I would do it, only on the condition he gave me money for the role. It paid off, 'cause he offered me even better than money—a percentage of the movie! Usually that spells disaster, just ask anybody who's ever financed a bomb movie for percentages, or internet investors. This one's a sure-fire hit, though, because it's a sci-fi movie. Sci-fi movies are...Read more...


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Milestones
1975: Bludney Pludd is born. He didn't make a big deal about it at the time and we're certainly not going to change that tradition now.
Now Hiring
Knife-Thrower. Should be capable of agile manipulation of melee weapons for entertaining stage spectacle, including throwing blades at volunteer Bludney Pludd. No references required, but we will insist on counting fingers.
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View Past Columns
BY Red Bagel
6/13/2005
A Fistful of Tannenbaum, Chapter 14: Foster in Time


Editor's Note: Last time, Jed was blown the fuck up.

After the third biggest explosion he had ever been in the middle of, Jed Foster awoke in the middle of a grassy field. At first he thought it was central park, but there were no dogs shitting on the grass, and no yuppies jogging through effeminately, listening to their MP3 players. He rose to a sitting position, legs crossed Native American style, and held onto his aching head.

"My head!" said Jed.

Looking around, Jed could see the ever-spreading green of grassland, which spread ever outwards until it reached the forests and then abruptly turned into woody trees. It looked like a land untouched by any kind of industry, but you don't know it isn't yet. Jed stood up and...Read more...

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