THE ELECTRONIC NATIONAL
an online version of the Tim Slagle newsletter
vol. II #3 Forecast: Brighter
THE ELECTRONIC NATIONAL
an online version of the Tim Slagle newsletter
vol. II #3 Forecast: Brighter
Contents:
t
seems I've spent a lifetime testing people's tolerance of my First Amendment
rights. I think that of all our inalienable rights, freedom of speech
is my most cherished. This obsession has made me a big draw on the
Libertarian circuit, and I was honored to be invited into the nations Capital
July Fourth weekend, for the National Convention. I started my trip
with the realization that I am on Al Gore’s Profile list.
If you remember, A couple years back, after a terrorist bomb brought down TWA flight 800, the President decided to put Al Gore in charge of a profiling database to warn airlines of potential troublemakers. In the past year, that terrorist bomb has been downgraded to an electrical spark, but the regulations remain. Every airline ticket agent is still required to ask a few ridiculous questions before you’re allowed to board. “Did you pack yourself?”
"No, I hired Holy Jihad Packing Services to do it for me."
“Has your luggage been in your control the whole time?”
"Well, I did leave my camera bag over by the exit while I went to get a haircut."
“Did anyone give you anything to bring on board?”
"Like this ticking package?" And in case you forget the rules, the intercom constantly repeats this lifesaving information throughout the airport.
The Federal Government goes out of there way to try and prevent tragedy from happening, but a determined individual can still bring down a plane. Every tragedy brings another level of security. I long for the days when you could just walk on a plane. I think if we got rid of the metal detectors, the increase in terrorist activity would be negligible. I fully believe that 99.9999% of all people are pretty decent folk, and the aggressors will always squeeze through the gates anyway. I'm also aware that tearing down the security gates would be a tough sell in this paranoid state we now live.
The Sky cap typed my name into the computer and his eyes widened. He picked up my luggage and asked me to follow him. We went back to a corner of the United terminal where there was an oversized X-Ray Bomb sniffing Machine. “what’s going on here?” I asked.
“Just routine,” said the Sky cap.
“Well how come everybody else just checks heir luggage with you and splits? Obviously you singled me out for some reason”
“Its totally random”
“Yeah, then how come I’m standing in line with a bunch of Arabs?”
"It will only take a minute sir."
Apparently my name somehow has worked its way into the category of
potential threats. I don’t know why. I may oppose the government,
but I’m not about to take down a planeload of innocent tourists just to
make a point. And it really made me angry that all those other people
were singled out for no other reason than their race. It is a truly dangerous
time we live in, when people of a specific ethnic orgin are being tracked.
When police pull people over on account of race it is considered fascist;
when the FAA does it we applaud their thouroughness
How amusing too, that a simple comedian is considered a threat to national security. “That’s right, you better search me thoroughly, I might be carrying some deadly jokes in one of those bags.” The irony is, that the fireworks I packed for the Independence Day celebration were in my carry-on, and weren’t even put through the bomb sniffer.
Granted the jesters have always been the most watched subjects in the Kingdom, for if you can get the people to laugh at the King, he looses his majesty. I believe that is why the jester got to live in the castle. Best keep potential threats on the payroll, to insure that they only mock the enemies of the king. Al Franken gets to go to White House dinners, so he doesn’t start calling Clinton a big fat idiot.
My humor did create a bit of a stir in Ann Arbor Michigan last March. I was delighted to perform in front of the Washtenaw County Libertarians for their annual Sam Adams dinner. Next door to the room where the Banquet was being held, an African American Fraternal Order was holding a function. I thought they were Knights of Columbus, but one of the Libertarians swore they were the Black Masons. The functions were placed far to close together for the volume they generated. In fact there was only a temporary sliding wall between us. They started first, and despite what Johnny Cochran says, you can hear a persons race in vocal tone and cadence. The speeches were in the style of black evangelists, and although you couldn’t hear the words, you could hear the music of the speech.
I started my shtick calmly enough. My personal vocal style cuts through walls like thunder on a warm summer night. For a while, it seemed there was a bit of a competition going on between the two functions for dominance. when my volume increased, theirs would raise also, daring me to raise mine even further.
For those of you who haven’t seen my act in a little while., I do a wonderful bit where I talk about minorities and their contributions to American culture. To highlight the piece, I touch on the hypocrisy of political correctness. If we can act like Drunken Irishmen on Saint Patrick’s Day, why don’t we eat ribs on Martin Luther King Day? It is perfectly acceptable to go to an Irish Pub for Corned Beef and Cabbage, but don’t ever mention Fried Chicken and Collard Greens...
I had no sooner said, “fried chicken,” when it became all too apparent that there was dead silence from the room next door. I launched into the crescendo of the bit: “Italian Americans gave us pizza, German Americans gave us Hamburgers, Mexican Americans gave us Chili, and Black Americans gave us Fried Chicken! That is the four basic food groups as far as I’m concerned!” Outside the door, I could see several Black Masons posturing in the Buffalo Stance.
The event organizers did their best to try and explain that, taken out of context, my humor seems to be racist, but if you listen, you see, he is criticizing white people for using black culture as in insult, and until we can laugh together about our differences, we might never be able to get along. It was to no avail. A couple of Masons had contacted the hotel management, and demanded that they halt the performance because it was hate speech, and therefore illegal in Ann Arbor.
The way people were seated, Only half the audience and myself could see the incident. The people unaware of the altercation would not have supported me if I had gone after the Masons, and the people that could see the problem were getting really nervous. Doesn’t he know we’re in Washtenaw County, where free speech has been supplanted by political correctness?” they seemed to be saying? I decided to ignore the problem, hoping it would blow over, and continued through my set.
At that point, a hotel bartender named Wayne came to my rescue. He was working the cash bar for the function, and had been enjoying my act. Wayne had just come to this country from Ireland, was not yet a citizen, and still maintained a thick brogue. “Got Dammit," he started, “Ah came ta this coontry 'cause I thought 'twas sposed ta be free! I'm ready ta git bahk on the plane right now.”
“You don’t understand man, he was saying things about our people,” one of the Masons said.
“Let me tell ye soomthing, he dint say enything aboot your people that he din’t say twice as bad aboot mine! I’ve niver eaten karned beef and cabbage me entire life! Ye, people have to get over yarselves, and larn how ta laugh!’
One by one, the Masons began to disperse. I thought it was over, when about twenty minutes later, from outside the room, a smoke grenade rolled into the show. For a second the audience gasped. I wondered to myself what might have happened if we had thrown it into their event? The next day Ann Arbor News headlines would have read, "Neo- Nazi White Supremacist bombs church outing.” Within a week, Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, and Louis Farrakhan would have been marching through the city.
My friend Wayne was quick to be the hero twice in an evening. He grabbed the grenade, pulled the fuse out, and threw back it down the hall screaming, “Ye call that a Bluudy BOMB??!”
It has always amazed me that speech can threaten people to such an extent. Speech is nothing more than vibrating air molecules, and would be very hard to do any physical damage whatsoever. Even if you screamed at the top of your voice inches from a persons eardrums, the damage would be temporary. For some reason though, people have grown to fear it, and will go out of their way to limit it. You can’t yell fire in a crowded theater people always explain. I beg to differ. If you can’t yell fire in a crowded theater, how will you get the people out of the inferno? Would it be better to let everybody burn?
Of course, I play stupid. I know that people are referring to a false alarm in a crowded theater. It’s okay to cause a stampede if there’s an emergency, but doing it just for fun is criminal. That assumes there will be a stampede. Theaters are highly fireproofed now, and the fear of dying in one is far from the public consciousness. Always the curious one, I had to find out for myself, and have performed an experiment. You know what actually happens when you yell “fire” in a crowded theater? People turn around and say “shoosh!”
All of Washington DC seems to be on high alert. In my short lifetime, I’ve seen the walls around the marble temples of government get higher and higher. While I was there, I thought I’d take a visit to the National Archives. Even though the Declaration of Independence is old and faded, and now kept inside a thick green glass Helium-filled chamber, I still like to look at this glorious document.
It was a mistake to even try this Fourth of July Weekend as the Holiday crowds made what is usually a quick devotion into a painstaking effort. The visit was exasperated by the newly installed metal detectors at the entrance. In order to view the document that freed us from serfdom, you have to line up like cattle and be searched. I don’t know what the Park Security was afraid of. It’s just a document. It is sealed in thick bulletproof glass, and is on an elevator that automatically drops it, the Bill of Rights, and the Constitution into a Nuclear proof chamber deep below the earth's surface in times of emergency. While I was in there, the alarm accidentally went off, and we had to clear the area while the documents resurfaced. I can’t imagine any terrorist activity ever happening there.
Despite common wisdom, terrorism is more than the random work of madmen. It is better described as a war of limited resources. When you don’t have access to huge nuclear arsenals, or cruise missiles; you have to conduct your war surgically, and select targets with high visibility. Terrorist activity is only effective when people are emotionally involved with the attack. Drop a plane with someone's grandmother on board, you have our attention. Burn a United States flag, and you have people ready to kill you. Destroy the Declaration of Independence... “Oh look Jerry Springer has Lesbian Sisters on!”
While I was waiting in line, I overheard a little boy ask his parents a question inspired by the high level of security. "Mommy, what would happen if somebody stole it?"
She looked at her husband for an answer to a question she never expected. His father realized the question had been passed off to him, thought for a second, and authoritatively replied, "Nothing."
The boy was puzzled. How could such a seemingly important document have absolutely no consequences if it disappeared. "Nothing?"
"Well they have lots of copies."
After almost an hour of checkpoints, I finally made my way up to the altar where the holy documents are kept. The Declaration of Independence is in the center of the dome. My Catholic readers will recognize this position as the same place where the tabernacle is kept in a church. Even though the document is faded, you can still clearly see the beautiful hand of John Hancock, in letters “big enough for King George to read without his spectacles.” I squinted my eyes and tried to locate where on the Declaration some of my favorite writings of Thomas Jefferson were scratched almost 225 years ago into the parchment by a talented master of quill calligraphy.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,
that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights,
that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
That to
secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving
their just powers form the consent of the governed...
“...But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing
invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute
despotism, it is their right, it is
their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards
for
their future security...”
“Keep the line moving,” Barked the security guard. I looked up at him with a puzzled face. “That's right, keep the line moving.” I ignored his warning. I did not wait for an hour in the hot Virginia sun just to pass by a couple of faded parchments like paying my respects at a funeral. I bowed my head to read the preamble of the Constitution,
“We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect Union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity...”
“Keep the line moving, the guard barked again.” The people behind me took this as a cue to start shoving me.
I moved down to the Bill of Rights. My eyes misted over as I put my hand over the document that guarantees the right to perform my comedy and publish this newsletter, I leaned down to read the beautiful wording,
“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”
This time it was obvious that security was directly speaking to me, “Do not attempt to read the documents, You are to quickly pass. I repeat. Do not attempt to read the documents.”
My temper got the best of me, “That’s right everybody, do not attempt to read the documents, they no longer apply to you. If you attempt to read the words entombed in this sarcophagus, you might get the mistaken notion that you are a free people. Just keep the line moving into the slaughterhouse!” The entire archives dropped into stunned silence, which I took as my cue to exit. For the second time in my life, I had been shooshed for yelling "fire" in a crowded theater.
On July 24 at the Capitol building, less than three weeks after I left under the watchful eye of Leviathan, Russell E. Weston Jr., was attempting to enter the Capitol Building with a handgun. The metal detectors went off, and he rushed past security, drew his handgun, and began shooting. He was apparently one of the .0001% that aspires to evil. The FBI and Secret Service both had extensive files on him, and he had even been put into a mental hospital for a brief stay. The Airport checkpoints, Al Gore's profiling database, and Brady Bill did nothing to prevent him from getting a handgun, traveling to Washington and killing people. Within 24 hours, the anti-Liberty coalition was on the airwaves suggesting more ways to avert such a tragedy. Stricter gun control, higher walls, more armed guards were all suggested. Perhaps microchip implants to track suspicious people and their whereabouts. Suspicious people like me, whose mouth might fire off anywhere, anytime. If I can make it into a database of troublemakers for simply telling jokes, who is next?
I myself think it has already gone way too far. I think paranoids like Russell E. Weston are only fed by tighter security. If you don’t want people to believe in the antichrist, don;t act like one.
Revolution® Turns Forty
Well dear Militia, against all odds, I have crossed a milestone that even the most reckless of gamblers would not have made book. As of this printing, I have formally joined the unfortunate in that strange purgatory known as middle age. Black socks and sandals, here I come!
If you remember my last issue, I was contemplating what kind of ceremony should accompany the shearing of the dreadlocks. The whole freak comic routine was getting tired, and it never brought me the stardom I had intended. I had hoped perhaps to get onto the Jenny Jones show for a free makeover. For those of you who were awaiting the update, I have some bleak news, the deed is already in the past. If you look closely at the photo in the banner, you can see I now look as conservative as Newt Gingrich, much to my dismay.
The compelling reason for my early entry into late adulthood should
buy myself some forgiveness. Around Christmas time of 1997, my father
became gravely ill. The family was hoping for some kind of miracle,
medical or otherwise, but by April it became too apparent that hope was
limited. My father was a 20 year military man, first in the Marines,
then later in the Navy as a pilot. He spent two tours of duty, in
World War II and Korea. He hated my dreadlocks, but respected my
individuality enough to keep it to himself. I knew if I waited too
long to cut them off, I would always regret that he didn’t get to see me
without them. If you could have seen his face light up from underneath
that oxygen mask, you know I did the right thing. He passed away
on May 9th, and for the first time since I began publishing this rag, I
have a very good excuse why it’s so late. Thank you all for your
condolences and help in my time of need.
I know that a lot of you assumed that I quit publishing, or perhaps,
your name somehow slipped off the mailing list. Rest assured that
my absence was no more than a brief hiatus while the Revolution® went
through a few realignments. I am now ready, willing and able to begin
the struggle afresh.
I owe my Father debts that can never be repaid. Not only was he patient throughout my quest to become a nightclub performer, he was probably the single person most responsible for my political beliefs. He quit smoking cigarettes in the early sixties, not for his health, but for the fact that he refused to pay the Federal Excise tax. He switched to smoking a pipe because pipe mixture was untaxed. When Viet Nam seemed like it would never end; his experiences in two wars compelled him to investigate Canadian Colleges for my brother and I, as we approached draft age. He often told me that he would have never gone to war if he had known what an oppressive bureaucracy the Federal Government would become. I miss him dreadfully, I had to sit through the State of the Union speech, knowing that his annual phone call would never come. We had an annual tradition during the speech. Dad would call me in the middle of it, and point out the fact that all three branches of government were in the same room. "One bomb and we start over!" he would joke.
Nation of Criminals was taped for the second time in May. Unfortunately, due to my father’s passing, It was not the greatest show I ever had. My performance was a little jagged, and the audience had far too many bachelorette parties in the mix for my liking. Fortunately, thanks to Louis Lee of Acme Comedy Company, I was able to reshoot on November 19th, and the tape is finally out. I have entered into a distribution contract with No Free Lunch Distributors, and subsequently exited the fast paced world of retail. I handed Snakepit Home Video over so I could focus on things I'm better at, like writing the National. I know that most of you received the bulk mailing announcing the release, and thank you for allowing me to litter your mailbox with another solicitation.
For those of you who did nor receive the advertisement: All sales of the Tim Slagle catalog will now be handled by No Free Lunch Distributors. You can order Nation of Criminals (and A Wake) at 888-557-6353, or on the Web at WWW.getwhatyoupayfor.com.
Nation of Criminals is the long awaited follow-up to A Wake. It contains over an hour of previously unreleased material, like "Global Warming," "The Forbidden Word," "Fried Chicken," and yes the very requested "Flag Burning Bit." Originally it was intended to be the Last Stand of the Freak Look, due to the timing, it has become the first release of the Corporate Guy.
the Mudslingers Ball was held again in Seattle in April. If you remember, a couple years back, a Communist Comic named James Inman and I squared off on stage in a raucous debate hosted by Minneapolis veteran Alex Cole. We taped the show, and are currently shopping it around as a pilot, entitled "the Mudslingers Ball." James kind of felt like he got his butt kicked pretty bad, so he kept pestering me for a rematch. We brought the show to Seattle the first week of May. Except for the first evening in Moscow Idaho, when Inman got a little short with the college kids, and the second show that was called for lack of attendance, and the last two shows that were called because of my father’s illness, the night went great! Thanks to all of you who were able to catch the show. It was a huge success, and we’re planning to try it again in 1999. Stay tuned.
Fourth of July weekend I was on C-SPAN. (I think) I performed at the Libertarian National Convention in Washington DC Independence Week (see adjoining story). I did a fifteen minute set on the convention floor in the famous Uncle Sam suit. Seeing as the Flag Burning Amendment is becoming an issue again, I pulled out the Legendary Burning Flag Trick. All through the set the C-SPAN cameras were rolling. I don’t know when or if they aired or might air my performance, but keep an eye out.
I really don't think I have any right to be soliciting subscriptions after an almost twelve month lapse from publishing, but what the hey. Starting with this issue, you're mailing label will reflect the last issue you receive. If you want to keep your mailbox lined after that, you're going to have to send me some money. If your subscription does indeed lapse, You'll still receive show updates, and the occasional video release catalog. For those of you that haven't been counting, this is volume 3 number 3. Unless this is the electronic National, in which this TSN0203. Somehow the electronic versions are marked exactly one volume behind. I expect to rectify that with volume 4. If you would like to receive the Electronic National absolutely free, just send a subscribe note to RevHdqrtrs@AOL.com.
That's all for this ish folks. Thank you once again for being patient during the retrenching. If one of the following weeks is geographically close to you, I hope you can drop by and see me.
Hey Slagle!
A regular feature of this newsletter where I will actually answer your questions. E-Mail RevHdqrtrs@AOL.com. For a confidential reply, hire a therapist and keep it to yourself. This is a comedy rag dammit, and if you need me to straighten out your life, you're already further gone than you suspect.
Mr. Slagle,
I somehow got onto your mailing list, and have been receiving your propaganda for a couple years. I must assume a friend of mine ordered a subscription as a practical joke. I am a free-lance writer and have been published in several progressive newspapers. I have enclosed a copy of one of my most recent articles, and dare you to publish it. Otherwise I must assume you really don’t support the notion of free press.
Chrys Novella
Dear Chrys,
How could I resist your offer to pad the National with such an unbiased, well researched, royalty-free article?
Thanks!
Slagle
Beans: The Magical Fruit
by Chrys Novella
When Jack the giant killer traded a cow for beans, he was setting a precedent for all enlightened people. It was not wrong for the bean trader to describe his wares as magical, because truth is, even the most ordinary of beans have remarkable powers.
Beans are rich in nutrition, and high in flavor. Why anyone would bother eating flesh while we have beans is a mystery to me. They are high in amino acids, and rich in vitamins and anti-oxidants. One serving of beans can supply a person with enough calcium that he doesn’t even need to consume milk, and subject another living being to the cruelty of modern industrial dairy farming. On the acreage it takes to feed one cow to maturity, you can grow enough beans to feed a city of 20,000 people for a year.
Beans have been around for thousands of years, and fed many ancient cultures. It has been suggested that other than wheat, beans are probably the first agricultural crop, and pre-dated animal domestication by thousands of years. Most early civilizations did not even begin to use their livestock for purposes other than dairy before the white man invaded their villages and burned their bean fields. When Native Americans first crossed over the Bering Straight into what is now occupied by The Corporate States of America, they probably carried beans with them, for Mayan cultures actually worshipped the bean god.
Its not just the nutritional qualities that make beans magical. It should be enough that you can turn beans into tofu, falafel, frijoles, hummus, and who can resist the perennial summer favorite, baked beans; but there’s more! There’s also soy milk, soy sauce, miso, and bean loaf. The bean stalks can be woven into decorative baskets, or twined into necklaces. Some government scientists are working on converting the carbohydrates in beans into adhesives and leather substitutes. Someday, you might be able to wear an outfit made of 100% bean, without ever having to run it through the cow. The vehicles of the next century could very well be propelled by fuel refined from beans.
And who can resist the most seductive of all of bean characteristics, the blessed flatulence. There is no feeling more satisfying than a long loud eruption. If you have the proper control, you can use it as a weapon of revenge. I like to save mine up and wait till I walk by a meat eater before letting one rip. I usually can’t resist screaming “Breathe my health meat eater” right in front of them while they eat their burger! I like to ride my bicycle past a sidewalk cafe, and let a long one rip as I fly past the diners. I don’t think its as cruel as it could be though, because the odor is almost nonexistent. I find that most of the foul smell associated with flatulence comes from the meat that most Neanderthals eat with their beans. When one has gone so far as to purify their bodies by refraining from ingestion of cruelty, the fragrance is quite pleasant. I actually enjoy the aroma of my own flatulence. Because I consume 75% of my food intake in legumes, this aura follows me pretty much where ever I go.
The more you eat the better you feel, so eat beans for any meal. And leave the flesh for barbarians.
A soon to be regular feature of the National suggested by my comrade Dave Fulton. Dave is a very funny comic with a taste for the extreme. His time on the road gives him ample time to stay on top of the Silver Screen, and his strong opinions will make a great feature. Welcome to the Revolution® Dave Fulton.
So I’ve had a few too many scotches with Mr. Slagle when I decide that his little publication needs a column devoted to movie reviews. “Great idea, you do it.” What the hell. First a few things must be said. I realize, generally, that people who criticize are made up of those who can neither produce, nor teach. Makes sense. I also believe that any and all films should be seen in a theater. Those who would rather wait for things to come out on video just speaks to the slovenly nature that the public has slid back into. Lastly, I have a certain amount of respect for any film that gets made. Especially the bad ones. Anyone can write a check for a great script with a proven cast but it takes real balls to back something like Porky’s II. As far as a rating system goes, there will be no stars or cute little popcorn icons. Mine is much simpler. I like to judge a film by whether or not I can afford to miss out on some of the action by hitting a bathroom. So if a movie is not good, hit the john, if it's good, hold it. That’s about it . Next issue, I’ll delve into a film or two. Till then I can recommend “The Spanish Prisoner” and “I Went Down.” Till next time, Don’t talk while the trailers for upcoming films are rolling.
Recipe of the Month: Pepper & Beef Sandwiches
The following Recipe might be familiar to any regular listeners to the
WLS AM morning show. Host Don Wade gave this out about a month ago.
It sounded good, so I gave it a try, and the results are incredible!
It makes a perfect party snack.
1 32oz Jar of Pickled Peppers (pepperoncini, banana pepper slices, or for the heartier pepper connoisseur, jalapeños)
1 4 -6 lb beef roast
16-24 Kaiser Rolls
16-24 Slices Swiss Cheese
Put roast into crock pot. Pour in jar of peppers, juice and all. Put crock pot on low. Cook covered for at least 8 hours. Remove roast from pot, untie and break into slivers with a large kitchen fork. Serve beef on rolls with a couple peppers and a slice of cheese if desired. Makes 16-24 sammiches.
CHICAGO (API) Once again, a local production had to close its doors for the lack of NEA funding. The refusal of Republicans to fund the arts; combined with the unwillingness of the public to support live entertainment, has left another theater darkened. A recent one man show, My Tour of Dooty, concluded its three month run without attracting a single person into the theater. Even the Chicago Reader, usually a dedicated Patron of such productions refused to review the show. They categorized it as another example of men’s egocentric obsession with their bowel movements.
Most upset with the cancellation was the star of the performance John Flushing. “I can’t believe that I’ve practically been spilling my guts out, and nobody had the courtesy to even show up. Originally the Matriarch Theater had slotted out a twelve month run for the performance, but the lack of attendance and the end of government funding made it impossible to continue. The bulk of the two hundred thousand dollar grant spent for the production went to costumes, and Ex-Lax; with little remaining to pay the stage hands, who spent long hours cleaning and repainting the stage after every performance.
But more than a few local shows have been damaged by ignorance of culture. Recent studies have indicated that the majority of NEA funded productions have been unable to attract any audience whatsoever, and members of Congress are using that as an excuse to cut the funding of Art.
NEA Chairman Melissa Joan Hart (R-Florida) defended her actions. “These aren’t marginal productions we’re cutting the funding for. Most of these shows have been unable to attract a single person other than press, and the family members of the artists. Some productions were unable to accomplish even that!”
Even usual big ticket productions like the Minot (North Dakota) Opera have been unable to attract anybody into their Theater. Promoters even tried to generate an audience by giving the tickets away to indigents. The plan failed, as most homeless would rather freeze to death, than sit quietly through three hours of opera.
“I can’t believe the cultural ignorance of these Republicans,” said
Secretary of Art, Sir Paul Michael Glasser. “We have to continue
these performances regardless of attendance. Just because nobody
is in the theater listening, does not mean the fat lady isn’t making a
sound. Our culture depends on continuing these performances in spite
of the Philistines who would rather see artists starving in the streets,”
he stated, backstage at an event to honor (cont. on A26)
This month, the very coveted “Government at Work for You Award®” goes to none other than Vice President Al Gore, for proving what I’ve been saying about for government for years. I’ve always maintained that most government officials are incompetent parasites that are incapable of doing anything beyond telling other people what they should do. The VP has staked his career on what he believes will be the issues of the twenty-first century; environmentalism, and building the Information Superhighway. Most take for granted that he has a little background in both subjects beyond having hired “experts” in the fields to write convincing speeches for him. On March 21, Al sent four-term Sen. Daniel Patrick Moynihan, a Democrat, a Birthday card automatically from his computer. Apparently the Information Super-Candidate made a few wrong keystrokes, and mistakenly sent Pat a card congratulating him on the birth of twins. The Senator by the way just turned 77, and his youngest child is forty one years old! With this brilliant maneuver, Al Gore earns the tittle of the Democratic Dan Quayle, and the Tim Slagle Government at Work for You Award®. Way to go Al Gore!
"The smallest minority on earth is the individual.
Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to
be
defenders of minorities." --Ayn Rand
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