Well, it's official. If you recall, during our contract negotiations with Brad Fitz we came to a temporary agreement which gave me a contract through November 30th. Well that time has long passed and I've been working day to day here at LiveJournal. It was satisfactory for me, but Fritz has this crazy notion about "commitment" and he just won't let up on me—fuck him and his overbearing control! Earlier this week Brad Fitz called me.
"Yeah. We've come to a decision. We're not interested in you anymore."
"Well ain't that some shit!"
"It's just not working out. I appreciate the effort and the years of hard work, but consider this phone call your pink slip."
"Aight. Bet."
And with that we've come to the end of the Elimination Dept. LiveJournal adventure. Now before you start pulling out your handkerchiefs and start balling your eyes out, I'd like to remind you that every beginning comes from some other beginning's end. At least that's what that annoying-as-fuck "Closing Time" song by Semisonic told me. And if pop music is steering me in the wrong direction, well then fuck me!
Anyway, instead of doing the normal quarter-end and year-end wrap up, I decided to use this entry as my last and as a parting letter. It's been a year of reconstruction and "eye-opening change" (read: change that wasn't fucking expected but oh well I guess I gotta deal with this shit without losing my mind or more of my hair), with the catalyst event being the loss of the long-time corporate sponsor of the Elimination Dept. Since then it just hasn't been the same.
I don't intend to abandon the internet completely; the Elimination Dept. is one of the larger employers of washed-up celebrities in this country, and I'd hate to see us affect the U.S. economy negatively. I hope to return with a buffed-up, regularly updated EliminationDept.com, hopefully with some blogging features that allow comments to be left. I will continue to update the Obscure & Fucked Music Videos section for the time being, and will probably boost up some of the music sections of the site. They seem to be in high demand amongst the Elimination Dept. faithful and I do a pretty good job with them. There's also MySpace, the hottest shit on the internet. Of course I will use a fake name and e-mail address so I cannot be traced by long-gone high school assholes. (Closed circuit to manzoku and darkshadow79: If I jump to the dark side and sign up for a MySpace, you two better be right behind me signing your asses up!)
Well, enough dragging on—I've done enough of that in the 438 entries leading up to this one—it's time to bring this to a close. Of course there has to be a bunch of thank you's involved in the end. I'd like to thank every passing visitor, every regular reader, every disgruntled metrosexual, every lurker, and everybody I forgot. The thought of people reading has been inspiring; the feedback has been inspiring. I appreciate all of it. I'll always remember the fun times, the debates (on everything from mix CDs to metrosexuals and pizza boys), and of course, mightypharaoh's 82-comment whopper of an entry was an inspiring masterpiece. All brilliant, all exciting, all worth all the fucking trouble. I gotta thank the former corporate sponsor of the Elimination Dept. Even though they've fucked me, they did pay the bills. Luckily I may have a new corporate sponsor already lined up; they buy lunch so they've already found the way to my heart. I gotta thank the owners and operators of the Lockwood Manor and the fine folks at the Nadig Newspaper for keeping me informed of zoning variances in and around the Jefferson Park area (I'll be back some day. I promise). I also gotta thank the countless celebrities who have appeared here that haven't sued me or sent me cease and desist letters. I always promised I would frame the first C&D letter I got...
And with that we'll bring this hellride to an end. Thanks for your patronage.
Ahh... The holidays. That means it is time once again for that holiday tradition: The Elimination Dept. Christmas Party. Every year we gather the Elimination Dept.'s finest all together in one room for a romping good time of a party. This year was no different. This year we decided to invite the general public to come for a small fee. Only two people bought tickets.
This year the party was lively as always. Huko brought a special guest, Ozzie Guillen (who did not buy a goddamn ticket). Huko's special guest decided to hold an impromptu debate with our very precious Barack Obama. They started out debating baseball and Obama's support for Ozzie. Eventually a crowd gathered around.
"So, you can't say you support me and then say you don't support me. Why sense does that make?"
"Well, Ozzie, I said I can't stand behind your comments towards Jay Mariotti."
"Then you don't stand behind me. Jay Mariotti is a fucking piece of garbage. He's shit. He's shit in my asshole."
"That may be, but I don't stand behind you using slurs towards the gay community to express your dislike for the man."
"I already apologized to the gays, but not to Mariotti. He's shit to me."
"I think we've established that already. I already told you I'm a fan of yours. I just don't agree with your decision to use that word you used."
"Well. You need to come to terms with it. I know you may not agree, but that does not represent me as a person. There is more to me than my outbursts. I appreciate your opinion and respectfully ask that we can get past this hurdle and be friends."
Wow. The sensitivity training that Huko gave Ozzie must have worked. At least a little bit.
"With that being said, Jay Mariotti is a shit-stain in my underpants."
I intervened to stop this ongoing nonsense discussion, "Alright, I think we get the point by now that you hate Jay Mariotti—"
"He's shit."
"Yes, yes he is. Let's talk about something else for Christ's sake!"
Meanwhile Zakk Wylde was setting up to do a concert. We had paying customers this time! We'd better have a good performer. Zakk Wylde seemed to be perfect for the job. The problem was that Zakk got completely rip-roaring drunk going shot-to-shot with Huko. Zakk's a professional drunk, so he usually can perform well while intoxicated, and he did do a decent job. He almost fell over twice and halfway through the concert gave a slurred speech praising Billy Ray Cyrus. Jerome Benton, in his own drunken stupor, took exception to this.
"How dare you promote that redneck racist? I oughta kick you in the ass!"
Zakk replied somewhat calmly, "Jerome, you better get away from this fucking stage."
"No! I will not have you promote rednecks on my watch!"
"Last I checked this ain't your fuckin' party. Why don't you go take a seat you drunk fuck."
"Who you calling drunk, hillbilly?"
"Hillbilly? Me? Ha! That's great. Now go fetch me a drink and a mirror you fucking subservient."
That's when Jerome decided to take the stage to get up in Zakk's face.
"Listen here you devil music making white man! I said I'm not gonna stand for this Billy Ray Cyrus shit and I meant it!"
Zakk turned back to the microphone and told the crowd, "Look, I don't know what Eliminator wants me to do here, so I'm just gonna wing it."
He turned around and clocked Jerome. Jerome went flying backwards and was knocked out instantly. Luckily his head didn't get cracked open. The crowd (made up mostly of you all reading this) cheered wildly.
Zakk addressed his minions, "Thank you. Appreciate the love and support. Now here's my song I did in tribute of Dimebag."
Just as Zakk was about to play the opening riff to "In This River" Obama took the stage. The crowd went nuts as if we were watching a wrestling match. Obama even brought his own mic with him.
"Zakk, violence is never the answer. Haven't I told you that?"
"With all due respect, the only time I see you is at these fucking affairs that Eliminator throws, so what's it to you what I choose to do or not do, Obama?"
"I think we can come to a reasonable solution in the situation."
"Are you fucking kidding? Look, he's laid out on the floor. Reasonable solution: Check. We're done."
"No, no... I think the next time someone criticizes you you should take extra care to actually address their concerns and talk with them. This will make you the bigger man."
"Did you see the size of that fuck?!? I am the bigger man. Look at his pansy ass all laid out over there!"
"That's not quite what I meant."
"Well, like I said, I could give a piss and a shit about what you meant, get off the stage so I can sing the fucking song."
Oh boy. Things were getting heated. There was going to be a wrestling match if I didn't put a stop to things. I brought a chair with me up on stage in case some shit popped off. The crowd just cheered even louder.
"Now listen up guys. This is supposed to be a Christmas party, there should be no fighting. Will you guys bury the hatchet?"
Around this time Jerome started to come to. Zakk took notice to this as he spoke to me, "Hey man, all I'm here to do is drink and sing. If these little fucking assholes want to talk shit to me, that's not my fault."
Jerome Benton was still a little out of it, but intervened, "Oh, so you really hate black people don't you. You're trying to kill my man and me."
Just then Don King rushed the stage.
"I'LL BE DAMNED IF THERE'S GONNA BE A RACE WAR AND I'M NOT INVOLVED. BLACK POWER! BLACK POWER!"
I tried shouting over Don, "THERE'S NOT GONNA BE A RACE WAR!!"
That's when mightypharaoh took the stage. He had a ladder in his hand. I asked him why he had a ladder.
"In case a wrestling match starts."
Ah yes. All we needed is a table. Just then Don King started screaming again.
"ANOTHER CRACKER!! RACE WAR! IT'S EVEN NOW! THREE ON THREE!"
Then Zakk quipped, "More like three on two and a half. Jerome's not much of fighter."
I screamed at the top of my lungs, "THERE IS NO RACE WAR. THIS PARTY IS OVER. EVERYBODY GO THE FUCK HOME!!!"
The room was silent. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence the room started to empty out until it was just me and manzoku. As we were cleaning up I asked him plainly, "What did you think of this year's party?"
"Oh you know. Action. Adventure. Race war. What else is new?"
Indeed. This place gets weirder and weirder as time goes by. Hope you all have a happy holiday season.
With Christmas approaching it is time for us to set aside our normal Ask Zakk column for our more Christmas-oriented Santa Zakk. Last year Santa Zakk read Christmas lists from kids. We didn't get too many lists mailed to us this year from the kids. What we did get was a bunch of letters from nü-metal bands asking for Zakk's advice and help. Without further ado, here they are:
Well... Wasn't that enlightening, folks? Oh joy to the world! It just wouldn't be Christmas without Zakk Wylde now would it?
Zakk will be back to "normal" in January. Send all your questions to: askzakk@hotmail.com.
Is it that time again? Time for the Asshole Of The Month? Why yes, yes it is. This month we've got a top-of-the-line asshole getting his due. It is none other than Uncle Tom!
Okay, okay... It's not the real Uncle Tom of popular literature. It is Thomas Sowell, the economist and author. Sowell is well known amongst academic types for his popular books, including Black Rednecks and White Liberals. You may have guessed by now that Sowell is a black conservative. It is not for this reason that he is being dubbed an asshole; it is actually refreshing to see people not follow blindly and vote for the party their race is "supposed" to vote for.
However, Thomas Sowell has shown himself to be somewhat of an "Uncle Tom" figure. At the end of 2004 he came out against gay marriage, rationalizing his anti-gay stance by stating:
The issue is not individual rights. What the activists are seeking is official social approval of their lifestyle. But this is the antithesis of equal rights.
If you have a right to someone else's approval, then they do not have a right to their own opinions and values. You cannot say that what "consenting adults" do in private is nobody else's business and then turn around and say that others are bound to put their seal of approval on it.
Aside from being a stretch, Thomas Sowell is basically saying that gays don't have the right to force people to like them, therefore they don't have the right to compel the government to recognize their marriages. With that kind of rationale, the entire Civil Rights movement is un-American, because compelling someone to hire a black person is forcing them to "approve" of blacks. Well, shit, Thomas, I guess the Civil Rights Act needs to be repealed. Civil Rights are just not constitutional!
He also said that gays live a dirty lifestyle that spreads AIDS. He also said that blacks are only good for being entertainers and athletes and that Mexicans are only good for cutting lawns. Okay... I made up the last two, but he did say the one about gays living a dirty lifestyle.
He has also stated that politicians and the media are too "frivolous" in what they consider important issues:
That question also needs to be asked about the media. In these grim and foreboding times, our media have this year spent incredible amounts of time on a hunting accident involving Vice President Cheney, a bogus claim that the administration revealed Valerie Plame's identity as a C.I.A. "agent" -- actually a desk job in Virginia -- and is now going ballistic over a Congressman who sent raunchy e-mails to Congressional pages.
The Vice President shooting a man and waiting a day to report it to authorities, a leak that caused the former Chief Of Staff to be indicted, and a scandal involving sexual advances towards a 16 year-old boy are just frivolous stories. I would think Sowell would have at least a little interest in the whole story with Foley and the congressional page; considering it showed that Foley was secretly living a dirty, gay lifestyle. Maybe Foley got off because he was a republican...
What sets Sowell apart from other neocon pundits of his ilk? Well, nothing really, but after reading two of his books I've realized that he is incredibly boring and his writing style is incredible dry. And I'm here today to warn all of you: Don't fall into the trap. I fell in twice. I was originally compelled by the subject matter, but the content was boring and long-winded (tequilaprophet may even say it was ripped straight from the pages of Teen People).
Sowell is of the belief that blacks as a race need to pull themselves up by the bootstraps. He believes that to improve the situation of blacks in the U.S. they need to look inward and not outward. He may even be spot on with his rhetoric that popular black "ghetto" culture runs parallel to white redneck culture. He also believes that southern whites are descendants of the laziest, uncivilized white people on earth, which may or may not be a little crazy. He also believes that Germans were "duped" into voting for Hitler and could have done nothing to stop him, which may or may not be a little crazy as well, but requires much more pondering than I am willing to give the subject at this point.
In theory, some of his civil rights ideas and thoughts on race are right on, but his writing style sucks. And he's a neocon. That's two strikes!
Thomas Sowell needs to stop being a rabid mouthpiece for conservative interests. By being a loyal yes man for conservatives (he felt moral outrage towards Clinton's sexual misadventures, but feels any questioning of Foley's are just distractions from big issues) he's discrediting himself as an authority figure. It dilutes all of his ideas and welcomes preconceptions of his inspiration for holding the opinions he does on matters such as race and sexuality.
Other nutjob conservatives like Bill O'Reilly and Alan Keyes at least bring a bit of entertainment to the table. Sowell is just a boring, stuffy intellectual with some good ideas but no good ways of expressing them. He'd make a hell of a writer if he just spruced up his writing style a bit, let his political party-line-towing views take a back seat, and wrote some shit that was just logical and made sense. It would also be great if he left his predetermined biases out of his more scholarly writings on issues. It would make him a hell of a writer. But, alas, he's just another boring conservative Asshole, mixed in with the whole lot of them.
Yes, folks, today we are returning to the bizarre world of Jerome Benton for another look at his Exposé series on cheaters and where they go to cheat. In part one he investigated laundromats and in part two it was karaoke bars.
Today... Oh today is great... Take a look.
Jerome Benton Expose: Tavern Fashion Shows
[Current Mood | Investigative] [Current Music | Shalamar]
One day Eliminator and I were telling each other stories at the Elimination Dept. headquarters. He was telling me about some noontime fashion shows that he used to see announcements for on the marquee of the City Limits Pub on west Belmont Avenue in Chicago. He was asking me if I had ever seen anything like that at small-time pubs before.
Ab-so-fucking-lutely I have. These dumpy bars are a cesspool for cheating. Y'all ain't watchin' fashion shows in there! If you don't know about the noon-time fashion shows at dive bars allow me to give you a brief history.
It was 1945. Somewhere in rural Michigan the owner of "Joe's Tavern" decided to put on an impromptu fashion show when he had an unusually large crowd during lunch hour one day. The idea was to try and get this large of a crowd to come back for lunch again and again. He asked one of his waitresses to take off her shirt and show the men her bra. He told her she would get bigger tips and they would call it a fashion show. For some reason, this fine young betty went along with the plan and boom! Now there are fashion shows at small-time bars all over the world.
I told Eliminator about the fashion shows and the cheating that goes on inside and invited him to come with me on this expose. He was excited by the prospect of being a part of my expose. He put on a leather coat to be more like the host of Cheaters and we were on our way.
I decided to start at the bar that Eliminator was talking about. He tried to warn me that it wasn't there anymore, but I wouldn't listen. When we got out there all that was there was a condo building. I tried to peak into a ground floor window to see if there were any tits exposed inside, but Eliminator pulled me away. There was a salon down the street. I told Eliminator that they might have some girls showing off some skin (there are always hot honeys in the salon). He told me not to bother going over there because it is a gyp salon. Ha! Like there's such a thing. We went in there and I put the mack down on this fine Polish honey.
I was like, "Hey, baby. Do y'all put on fashion shows?"
She was like, "No."
"Aww, baby. Why not? You got the stuff."
"We don't do fashion show in salon."
"Oh, at your house then baby?"
She told me that if I wasn't getting a haircut that I should leave. Can you believe that shit? The place was half empty, which Eliminator took note of.
"I see that your place is pretty much empty. Is that because you drove away your clientele by driving away your best hairdressers?"
"I thought this expose was on fashion show. Why ask about my salon? Get out."
"Just wonderin'."
We finally found a bar with a fashion show at a nearby pizzeria/pub. Man, you should see the folks in their business casual wear and their cheap ties at the fashion show. It is a breeding ground for infidelity. The women that were shaking that shit were not that great looking and some of them had severe wrinkles, but it was better than not seein' anything. I saw a pretty ugly 50-something motherfucker chatting it up with this barfly betty after her performance. He was wearing a wedding ring. They quietly and discretely snuck off through an "Employees Only" door.
We decided to sneak in behind them. We were walking through a back hallway when I heard some talking in a back office. The door was cracked slightly. I kicked it in. I knocked over the hussy by kicking the door into her and the guy was sitting on the other side of a desk signing a pay check. Apparently he was the owner of the joint and he wasn't fucking his sex slave waitress, he was giving her her weekly pay. He was startled at first when we knocked her over and kicked in the door. But that startled look turned into a look of frustration as he pulled a .38 from his desk and lead us right out the door of the place.
I decided that we would try an upscale Irish pub in the heart of the city. They didn't have any signs that said they had fashion shows, but I knew they had to have something like that in there. Apparently I was dead wrong. It was yuppie heaven at lunch hour with a bunch of business people dining, but no sluts. Eliminator and I got kicked out of the joint for looking surly and not dressing in khakis. Motherfuckers. It's racism, that's all it is...
I finally stumbled upon a rathole place with a fucking "fashion show" sign on their marquee. YES! We found it. It was decorated like an old western saloon, but the fashion show was on inside. The ladies of this fine establishment were showing off their bras and underpants to a bunch of middle-aged gentlemen and old geezer alcoholics. I saw one gentleman who looked to be about 25 chatting it up with one of the ladies by a side door. He was wearing a ring. I observed for a few minutes and saw them sneak out the side door. Then we went after them. Out in the alley they were making out and groping in broad daylight. It was sick because the waitress was about twice his age and you could see she had false teeth. We ran up on him and I asked blatantly, "ARE YOU CHEATING?"
"Um... No. This is my wife."
Then Eliminator stepped in.
"This is your wife? Really? Well I trailed you this morning. Look into the camera."
Eliminator had footage of him kissing his much younger, much hotter wife goodbye as he left for work.
I asked Eliminator the obvious question: "How the fuck did you know we were gonna run into this guy? Where did you find time to prepare an ambush?"
"Do worry about all of that."
Eliminator was taking this Cheaters stuff way too seriously. He was even wearing glasses and leather gloves. He doesn't wear glasses and I've never seen him wear leather before in my whole life. Eventually I stepped in to ask the dude some questions because Eliminator was playing back video footage from the dude's christening; I don't know how he got all this footage...
"Man, why you cheating on your hot wife with this—sorry, honey—old scag?"
"I've always wanted to get it on with a woman that reminded me of my mom. Yep."
Well that was more than I wanted to hear. At that point I grabbed Eliminator and we headed back to the car. So, yes, you can find cheaters at seedy bars with fashion shows during lunch hour. I'm Jerome Benton. Thanks for reading.
Jerome Benton Onstage Valet Morris Day & The Time
I had to go along... I wanted to see if Jerome could find bars that had these noontime fashion shows like the City Limits Pub did. I've always wondered if it was a unique thing. In my younger years I, along with manzoku, got a kick out of watching middle age pervs swarm to the bar for lunch hour. So I had to check it out. And I had a lot of fun being the guy from Cheaters. I love exposing frauds. Love it, I tell ya...
We have to take time out today to pay tribute to one of the greatest musicians ever: Bootsy Collins. Bootsy is not only one of the best bass players ever, but one of the best showmen of all time. If you aren't familiar with Bootsy Collins, then you're just missing out on a hell of a lot.
Bootsy, along with George Clinton, can be credited with crafting the whole P-Funk look and sound. Bootsy made lavish costumes look cool. Bootsy talks with a soft tone and wears freakish clothing, but you'd be hard pressed to find someone who would refer to Bootsy as a "pussy." People never have anything bad to say about Bootsy. Prince should be thanking Bootsy for inspiring him to dress so lavishly. Bootsy pushed the envelope—even in the realm of P-Funk—with his costumes and outlandish characters. Bootsy is quite possibly one of the most creative musicians there is or has ever been. And to the Elimination Dept., he is a true inspiration and originator.
He defined what made a true rock star better than most "traditional" rock stars of his time. Drugs? Women? Loud music? He had it all. P-Funk concerts rock harder than most rock concerts. Back in the day, the stage show was more like a full-fledged musical production than a simple concert.
Bootsy was not just an artist. He was also a character. Actually, he was multiple characters, but Bootsy masterfully married the music to the Bootsy character. Most artists that come out with an extravagant outfit, a pair of star-shaped glasses and a "Space Bass" would be accused of using their appearance to hide their lack of talent. Not true with the funk. And not true with Bootsy. The P-Funk players made the characters part of the music. Just listen to "Ahh... The Name Is Bootsy, Baby!" and you can see the stage show seamlessly incorporated into the music. Listening to a P-Funk record isn't simply listening to an album; it is listening to a soundtrack to a stage production.
Not only has Bootsy (and the entire P-Funk gang) been successful in creating good, rocking, solid music, they've managed to make it timeless. Bootsy has been at this shit for a long time. He started with James Brown as a part of the JB's, moved on to the P-Funk, and then went on to create Bootsy's Rubber Band. He still records to this day! He worked with Deee-Lite on their smash hit, "Groove Is In The Heart." Everybody knows who the fuck Bootsy Collins is!
Hopefully the day will come when a new George Clinton or Bootsy Collins album will be welcomed with the same fanfare as a new Dylan record. The funk pioneers need to be remembered with as much appreciation as their rock 'n roll counterparts. The funk is rock 'n roll in its purest form. When Ike Turner was creating rock 'n roll (in between beatings of Tina), funk and hard soul is what he had in mind. More people need to understand that the funk is the essence of rock 'n roll music. It can rock harder than heavy metal and be more sensual and smooth than soul music. It is a one-stop shop for contemporary music!
Nowadays the kids are mostly familiar with Bootsy from Deee-Lite and popular rap artists sampling his songs, but they need to get up on their funk history and find out more about Bootsy Collins! Go out and pick up Ahh... The Name Is Bootsy, Baby! Additionally, get your hands on some old P-Funk albums; namely Hardcore Jollies (Funkadelic), Up For The Down Stroke (Parliament), Maggot Brain (Funkadelic)... Oh hell, just go out and get a bagload of funk! It will make your fuckin' day!
Today the Elimination Dept. writes this salute because, beyond all, Bootsy stands out as a true musical prodigy and a true inspiration. The Elimination Dept. thrives off of individuals who bring something different to the table. Hell, it doesn't even have to be that different, it just has to be interesting. Hell, these days we'll settle for people who are passionate about who they are and at least are "themselves." Or something.
So, yes... shout out to individuals. And shout out to you, Bootsy. Twinkle, twinkle... you are a star!
It's about time we did another one of these! Yes! It is time for an action-packed edition of The Eliminator Show. With Rob Sherman threatening to come back to TV, we've really got to step our game up! He's already taken over the AM market with his midday show on WJJG (1530 AM). The man is a crazy media darling, and we've got to TOP HIM!
So we did the best we could on this show with getting big-ticket guests. Check it out.
Eliminator: Welcome to The Eliminator Show!. Man oh man; we've got a packed show today!
Eliminator: This is true. Ladies and gentleman! TURD!
[HALF OF THE CROWD CHEERS. HALF OF THE CROWD COULD CARE LESS.]
Turd:[Laughs] Brutal introduction...
Eliminator: Well, let's be honest. Despite all the hype, the Mancow show wasn't the favorite radio show of everyone in Chicago.
Turd: No it was not.
Eliminator: So, is it true that Mancow asked you to work for free for a month or two while he shopped around for a new deal? That's what I heard from Ryan Manno from Q101.
Turd: Basically yeah, there was no real paying gig on the table.
Eliminator: Why not? Wasn't Mancow making millions?
Turd: I thought so.
Eliminator: He couldn't pay you for a while until he got another radio deal?
Turd: I guess not. He hasn't really gotten another deal yet, anyway.
manzoku: So you would have had to work for free for what has been almost 5 months now?
Turd: Yeah. I guess that was the deal...
Eliminator: So, I know you are working on getting a gig at The Loop, and you even own an ice cream shop in Peotone, Nick's Licks, which I've actually been to, but we've got a proposal for you. Come work for us, the Elimination Dept. You would actually be paid; quite handsomely, in fact. Much like the villains in David Baldacci novels, we've got an unexplainable wealth of resources at our disposal and are always one step ahead of the fuzz. Plus, manzoku here is a master of disguise.
Freak: Hell Yeah!
Turd: Whoa! When did you get here?
manzoku: That wasn't Freak, that was me. I quickly changed into disguise.
Eliminator: Told you. Master of disguise.
Turd:[Laughs] Excellent! What would I do?
Eliminator: Um... I don't know. You don't really do stunts anymore, right?
Eliminator: Well, what are you gonna do? Political commentary?
Turd: Absolutely. You see, I would bomb the shit out of those slant-eyed Koreans—
Eliminator: Whoa! I don't know if political commentary is quite your bag... Let's see. Well, I had to beg for forgiveness from Zakk Wylde after I jokingly made him Asshole Of The Month, just in case he doesn't come back, let's see how good you are with advice.
manzoku: He used to read "Letters To Turd" on the Mancow show.
Eliminator: Yes, which was quite funny. Here, here's a letter that Zakk would normally get: "Robert from Connecticut writes: Dear Turd. I've got herpes. My ex-wife gave them to me. Now I'm dating this hot bitch, but she doesn't know I have herpes. Should I tell her?"
Turd: Rob, you fucking twat. Of course you should tell her you have herpes. Unless she's a scummy bitch like your ex-wife. Rob, how do you know she doesn't have herpes as well? Perhaps both of you are dirty. Maybe she even had sex with your ex-wife. I say fuck it. Give that bitch herpes. If she doesn't have it already she deserves it for being a no-good, slutty whore. All women are.
manzoku: If that's his opinion of the situation, then that's his opinion of the situation.
Eliminator: That's probably how Zakk would have answered it anyway...
Turd: Exactly...
Eliminator: So how come they didn't keep you around for the new morning show at Q101?
Turd: I dunno. I guess I don't fit the direction they were going in.
Eliminator: Well they let that yelling guy from the Alley commercials keep his job in the mornings. He doesn't really yell anymore, though.
Turd: Yeah. I guess I didn't fit in there. They are trying to get me a job at The Loop.
Eliminator: Have you ever considered becoming a part of the Rob Sherman radio show on AM 1530?
Turd: Who the fuck is Rob Sherman?
manzoku: I think Turd is hired here. No questions asked.
Eliminator: I think he passed the audition too. Thanks for coming tonight, Turd. Now we gotta move on to our special musical performance! Yes! We have live music right now from FischerSpooner. Take it away guys!!!
[AUDIENCE APPLAUDS AS ONE MAN WALKS OUT TO A KEYBOARD.]
Warren Fischer: Um, Casey couldn't make it today, so I'll be performing an instrumental version of "Emerge."
Eliminator: Wait, wait, wait a minute here... What do you mean Casey couldn't make it? Who the fuck is Casey?
Warren Fischer: Casey Spooner. The other half of the band. He sings. I produce the music.
Eliminator: I heard you toured with twenty people. What the hell is going on?
Warren Fischer: We didn't think twenty people would fit on the stage, so it was just going to be me and him.
Eliminator: And he couldn't make it? Did he do too much fucking ecstasy last night or something?
Warren Fischer: Maybe. Here goes the song.
[WARREN PUSHES THE DEMO KEY AND THE INSTRUMENTAL TRACK TO "EMERGE" STARTS PLAYING. THE AUDIENCE SITS IN SILENCE]
Eliminator:[Screaming over music] OH HELL NO. manzoku! GO SAVE THE SHOW. GO SING!
[MANZOKU WALKS OVER TO THE PERFORMANCE AREA AND STARTS TO DO THE VOCALS]
manzoku: Uh-huh. That's right. Feels good. Looks good. Sounds good. Looks good. Feels good too. Feels good too. Uh-huh that's right. [mimicking female vocalist from song] We don't need to emerge from nothing. We don't need to tear away.
Eliminator: Okay. I think that's enough. Thanks to my guests Turd and Fischer... Well, just Fischer. We'll see you next time.
Well, that was certainly entertaining. I hope. I'm trying to see if WCIU will pick up this show. I want to get it on the air before Rob Sherman gets back on TV. I may have to stoop to cable access...
Oh boy... I've decided to post another brilliant Jerome Benton essay. This one is a continuation of his series on where cheaters hook up to cheat. You may remember his previous entry on Laundromats. I was away from LiveJournal at the time due to a contract dispute. Well, this one is great. It is about Karaoke bars and the seedy underworld of karaoke bars. Fascinating stuff, really...
Jerome Benton Expose: Karaoke Bars
[Current Mood | Inquisitive] [Current Music | Klymaxx]
As I continue my investigation into extramarital hookups, it has come to my attention that a lot of lovers meet up at the Karaoke bar. I decided to hit up a few Karaoke bars in Minneapolis when I was visiting with Prince recently. I even brought Prince with me to the Karaoke bars. He was heavily disguised wearing a thick mustache and a mullet wig.
The first Karaoke bar was in a small strip mall on the outskirts of Minneapolis. The scene was awful. There were about two or three ugly heffers at the bar and some guy with a mullet sitting at a front row table. He was hitting on some fine, big booty bitch at the next table. He had a ring on, she didn't. Some old white dude was absolutely butchering "Fight The Power" by The Isley Brothers while this was all going on. Prince was busy hitting on a cocktail waitress. He then turned to me and plainly said, "Even with the ugly mustache and mullet I'm pulling more chicks than you." He then went back to sipping on his cosmopolitan.
The dude with the bubble-butt bitch was taking her hand and leading her outside. I told Prince it was time to pounce them and interrogate them. He said, "I'll meet you out there." As I ran out the door he was hitting on another waitress. Damn! He's not gonna leave any bitches for me!
When I got outside I saw them kissing up on each other. I ran over and yelled, "EXPOSED!"
The woman yelled at me, "Honey! What the fuck you want?!?"
"Girl, that man's wearing a wig. He's a cheater! Why you fuckin' with a spoken-for man?? What are you, some sort of hoochie?"
Then the guy stepped in, "Uh... Is there a camera somewhere... I never met this woman, she assaulted me, she tried kissing me and grabbing on my dick. I swear it, honey. If you're watching."
He was looking into my pinky ring as if it had a hidden camera in it. What a mark. At this point the disguised Prince joined us on the sidewalk. He spoke, and when Prince speaks, even disguised as white trash, everybody listens: "Don't you know the sanctity of marriage depends on faithfulness?"
"Yes, sir. I-I don't know this girl."
The bitch spoke up, as if she had a right to talk at all, bitch can't see that three grown men were talking, this is no place for a woman to interject, but anyway, "HEY! DON'T ACT LIKE YOU NEVER MET ME BEFORE MOTHERFUCKER. JUST BECAUSE THIS DUMB FUCKING MORON AND HIS MULLET TRUCK DRIVER FRIEND ARE BOTHERING US? DO YOU SEE A CAMERA DUMB FUCK?"
He asked the obvious question, "Is there a camera?"
"No, I'm a reporter for the Elimination Dept."
"Oh no! I've heard about you guys!"
He ran off. It was a good thing because Prince's mullet wig blew off. Prince let out a "ooohh..." and ran down the street in the opposite direction.
I caught up with Prince and we went to another Karaoke bar to continue the investigation. We went to a place called The Sportsmans Pub & Grille (www.sportsmanspub.com) and luckily we went on a Thursday when they were having Karaoke.
The place was packed with Karaoke studs. A lot of frat boys and armchair quarterbacks were in the place. We sat down at a table and I started eyeballing cheaters. Just then my ears noticed that someone was singing an old Prince song. It was "Little Red Corvette." The man on stage was wearing surgical scrubs. I told Prince about it and he was like, "Oh Shit!"
I asked him if that was Doctor Fink from The Revolution and he said, "It sure looks like it."
It seems that Doctor Fink is a star on the Karaoke circuit; that's what the two waitresses that Prince picked up told us. They even said that they thought it was the real surgeon from The Revolution. Everybody cheered when he was done with his song. After that song he did "You Dropped A Bomb On Me" by the Gap Band. At that point Prince walked over to the side of the stage. He was trying to get Doctor Fink's attention.
"Psst... Hey... It's me." He lifted his mullet wig momentarily to let Fink know it was him. Fink let out a "Holy Shit" in the middle of the chorus of "You Dropped A Bomb On Me." At the end of the song he walked over to Prince. Prince convinced him to do a duet. Doctor Fink is the only motherfucker I know that brings his own keyboard to Karaoke. Doctor Fink told the audience, "I've got a guy here that wants to do a duet. His name is, uh, Nelson." The two of them did three songs together. They did "I Would Die 4 U," "Controversy," and "Kiss."
After the third song, Prince shook hands with Doctor Fink, walked over to me and told me that we was tired of this Karaoke shit and left. I decided I had had enough that evening and called off the investigation. But we have determined that people hook up at Karaoke bars!
Jerome Benton Onstage Valet Morris Day & The Time
Well, that investigation wasn’t exactly complete. He kind of busted one cheater and then Prince did karaoke with the surgeon from the Revolution while being disguised in a fake mustache and mullet wig. Hell, at least it was entertaining, even if it wasn't really informative.
This month we have a real dreg to society being honored as our Asshole Of The Month. He's a smelly, scummy, wash-up of a man; a man of little actual talent. He is a guitarist who has survived on regularly being employed by another washed-up hack.
That man is: Zakk Wylde.
Yes, guitarist Zakk Wylde. A man among men; a real winner. He drank his own piss on the Mancow show, he stuck a wine cork in his ass at a high price restaurant to get out of paying the bill, he looks like a dirty piece of garbage, and on guitar he's a one-trick pony.
You know what's really wrong with Zakk Wylde? He's a scumbag. Not only that, he promotes being a scumbag. You know all those smelly teenagers with faded hoodies that you see on the train? They are all worshippers of this crude manifestation of crap. He's encouraged teenage kids to not shower and smell like shit.
And, on top of that, Zakk, whose real name isn't even Zakk (It's Jeff), is a model husband and father. In countless magazine, radio, and TV interviews he's made reference to all the different ways he's had sex with his wife in graphic detail. I'm sure his wife appreciates the love that Zakk is sending her way in these interviews. And when his children grow up to be strippers and drug dealers, they will discover these interviews with their dear ol' dad where he describes, in graphic detail, the way they were brought into this world.
He is a large part of an ugly, scummy scene. These metalheads have never even considered wearing a clean shirt in their entire lives. Zakk will tell you his music is for all people, and that he is just out there giving people music they enjoy. At the same time he is promoting alcoholism and just spewing his filth about giving it to his wife in various orifices.
This is what irks me most about this no-talent hack. If you sit down and talk to him, he claims to be a family man. He even exhibits a sensitive side in certain interviews and on certain songs he has written. I would normally say this makes him a fake and that he is secretly very sensitive and metrosexual, but the things he says about his wife's vagina make me believe that the sensitivity is the real act. He uses the sensitivity act to make his real presence (the foul-mouthed scumbag Zakk) seem like a stage presence. That way when someone criticizes him for being a filthy-mouthed P.O.S. he can say it was all a part of the "act."
"Act," indeed. No man would take his act as far as talking about ejaculation on his wife's face! Zakk Wylde has made "degenerate" cool. Now people can freely drink copious amounts of beer, swear on TV, and openly talk about anal sex with their significant others without seeming perverted or just plain scummy.
On top of being a complete Neanderthal, Zakk Wylde just can't sing. He may have some good guitar technique, but the man's singing voice is only so-so. He should stick to playing guitar for Ozzy and not branch out on his own with this Black Label Society crap ever again.
If there was ever a reason for indie kids to have become indie, it was probably to get away from Zakk Wylde and the scumbag rock genre that he represents. Now every lowball new "rock" act is fronted by some "good ol' boy" beer drinkin', redneck hick. Shinedown? Crossfade? Hinder? All scumbags. All dirty, trailer park scumbags. You know, for a genre of music that hates country, these rockers are more like their country contemporaries than they would ever like to believe.
And there's Zakk at the forefront of it; wielding his bullseye signature guitar and leading the masses into white trash heaven. I, for one, will not be going down that path, and I hope none of you choose to either.
It was a question on a lot of minds: What the Elimination Dept. going to do next? A lot of questions started when Brad Fitz and I started contract negotiations back in August.
I thought hard about it. What is the future of the Elimination Dept.? More importantly, what is the point? I thought about all these thoughts and put together a little speech. I got everybody down to headquarters and had them listen to my speech. It was quite a moment: We actually had perfect attendance. We were all gathered in the conference room. Below is the speech. Check it out:
Ladies and gentlemen:
I gather you here today to talk about the future of the Elimination Dept. and where we are going. It's been over three years since we started the Elimination Dept. LiveJournal and formalized the Elimination Dept. as an official Limited Liability Corporation. Over the past years there has been a lot of thunder on LiveJournal and a lot of people that have come and gone. Offline, the scene hasn't been that much different. It is almost as if our motto should be "Elimination Dept.: Bringing people together. Tearing people apart."
In fact, I like that. Maybe I'll put it on the business cards once we get them made up. But today I want to talk to you all about where we have been, and where we are going.
My first year on LiveJournal was primarily about attacking Tools and making it known that being a Tool would not be tolerated. This meant extreme combat with dissenting opinions and a brutal sense of pride that meant no backing down from a fight. Since the dust has pretty much cleared there's not much of a fight to fight. That last year or so has been surprisingly stable. Rather than immediately find another fight to fight, we can use this as a time to build upon what we have.
Make no bones about it: Things have changed. I make no bones about it nor do I shy away from it. Live with it or there's the door. I strive to be an individual that continually evolves; this will be reflected in my writings here and even on EliminationDept.com. It is my belief this constant evolution will bring great things.
"Innovation instead of stagnation" has been listed as an interest on my LiveJournal for quite some time. I plan to continue to do my best to live up to that motto. There are plenty of people out there doing the opposite of that; they are doing nothing and getting nowhere. Many of them are making excuses for it. Being a loser the new hip thing. Lethargy is the new hip thing. That is what they will tell you—albeit indirectly (they will mask it in some sort of nobility). People go to great lengths to try to hide their own disappointment in themselves by building up a false sense of superiority and a false sense of enlightenment—not to mention a false sense of entitlement.
To you all I would say: Don't be fooled by these people. I know what I'm selling is a hard sell, but each and every one of you could be doing better. At no point should you ever try to stop bettering yourself. Don't let anything or anybody tell you that you can't do something or you weren't meant to do something. That's excuse making; that's giving up. That's cowardice. I've been out there; I've been reading. I know what some people are saying, I can read between the lines. They are telling you to not even bother trying to improve yourself because there is no gain in it. The world is out to get you; society has it in for you. Is that the kind of attitude that Rosa Parks should have had?
I look at all the negativity that is being passed around both online and off and I find it counterproductive. There isn't anything redeeming about cowering from life! There isn't anything redeeming about hiding behind a faux-angry façade. I walk amongst the people of the world and I see a lot of people doing good. They are constantly evolving and getting ahead; they are making their mark. And then I see the bitter folks of the world huddled in a corner looking angry blaming everybody but themselves for their place in life.
Some people would rather play the victim or would rather be negative all the time than take the hand they are dealt and play it. Play it like a fucking card shark! I've found my niche in the world, both online and off, and it took a lot to get here. I refuse to look back; I refuse to start blaming society, the president, or Tools for any downfalls I have. I'm not Jigga man, so I don’t carry the weight of the world—or Biggie Smalls—on my back, but I carry my weight on my back. I stand behind everything I've done, even the fucked up shit. I stand behind everything that I said, even the fucked up shit.
I'm not here to tell you I'm the new kinder, gentler me. I can't even pretend to do that shit. I've got problems. But I know that, and I try to keep my problems from interfering with the personal happiness of too many people. Of course, it has probably interfered with those of you in the room today, but oh well—that shit happens.
So what am I getting at? Why am I going on about this? Why am I making this speech today? I'll be honest with you: I lost my last two note cards, so somewhere along the line I started going off the top of the head. I don't usually do freestyle—I get paid for mine—so this may come off a little wack.
But the message: The message is key: Do something.
Good night.
Still haven't found those last two note cards... The message is in there. Somewhere. I'm not gonna pull a Rob Sherman and compare myself to Martin Luther King, but the speech was meant to be inspirational on one level and a message to those that need it on the other. It came off sounding more like Ray Nagin trying to sound like Martin Luther King, but some shit happens sometimes.
Actually, Ray Nagin is a perfect example of what I was trying to get at: Here's a man who's cool... Who's calm... Who portrays a false image of himself of being in charge, being knowledgeable, and being a good leader. In the meantime look at the backdrop of most of his speeches and press conferences. His city is still in a state of despair. Is it his fault? No. It is FEMA's fault and George Bush's fault. They are the great evil that is out to stop him from growing. He is not one to be followed. He is not one to be mentored. He is one to be laughed at. Take inspiration from truly innovative, truly positive people. If you just gather a bunch of schmucks around you to make yourself feel better about yourself what does that really accomplish? You should want to get your ass kicked regularly. You should want to look at the people around you as equals and as inspiration. You should have people around you that inspire you to better yourself; not people around you that kiss your ass or just tell you to give up on your hopes and dreams because you'll never make it.
So as far as the Elimination Dept. goes, we have less Tools around to pick on. And what I think I was trying to get at was that there may be a slight shift in the content of these entries. Which really sucks for me, because that means I gotta come up with new ideas. FUUUCCCKK.... Why me? Why does this have to happen to me? Where's that damn Cheese Stick when you need him to pick on...
manzoku and I were sitting around at our new, palatial headquarters wasting time. We were throwing darts at a bulletin board with pictures of Alan Keyes, Ann Coulter, Jerome Benton, and other people that we absolutely hate. While we were playing darts on the bulletin board we were rapping classic rap lyrics back and forth to each other. manzoku set it off:
I ain't no joke, I used to let the mic smoke Now I slam it when I'm done and make sure it's broke When I'm gone no one gets on cuz I won't let Nobody press up and mess up the scene I set I like to stand in a crowd and watch the people wonder damn But think about it then you'll understand I'm just an addict, addicted to music Maybe it's a habit, I gotta use it Even if it's jazz or the quiet storm I hook a beat up convert it in a hip-hop form
His Eric B & Rakim was no match for my Public Enemy:
It's another record, check it, mad methods To put my brothers and sisters on a deathbed You know he cheated, took what he wanted but now you blunted Suckin up to the devil steppin down a level It's who they fear is you Who protects us from us and you from you? Yes and it counts [fuck the forty ounce] I sued them bastards, yeah they got bounce I did em like a demo {threw em out the window} I took a Ninety-Eight 'cause I never liked a limo
He retorted with his own Public Enemy lyrics:
Yeah, that's right And I'm get ready to step off Ya know what I'm sayin' And all you posses out there That's trying to help posse to posse Yo, we gotta stop that as Scatter your brain from here to White Plains Ya know what I'm sayin' We got the shit that you just can't fuck with
Never to be outdone I pulled out that 'Kast:
Well it's the M - I - crooked letter, ain't no one better And when I'm on the microphone you best to wear your sweater Cause I'm cooler than a polar bear's toenails Oh hell, there he go again talkin that shit Bend, corner's like I was a curve, I struck a nerve And now you bout to see this southern playa serve I heard it's not where you're from but where you pay rent Then I heard it's not what you make but how much you spent You got me bent like elbows, amongst other things, but I'm not worried Cause when we step up in the party, like I'm out-you-scurry So go get your fuckin' shine box, and your sack of nickels It tickles to see you try to be like Mr. Pickles
After that I decided to put an end to the shenanigans.
"Hey man, let's go to our old headquarters and see what's up. I'm feeling nostalgic."
"Fuck it," I declared. "We'll go in through that window over there. See, the one that's open?"
"Why didn't you tell me that shit a few minutes ago?!"
After crawling in the window we were treated to an abandoned building with three morons squatting there and sewer rats the size of people. One of the rats was breaking-dancing on a busted down cardboard box we left behind.
manzoku looked like he was going to puke as he asked, "Oh man... What's that smell?"
There was a pile of feces in the doorway to what used to be my office.
"Oh man... They shit in my office! THEY SHIT IN MY OFFICE!!"
I was livid. Just then one of the squatters walked out of the can. I called over to him.
"Hey, you! What the fuck?"
He responded calmly, "Hey man... I'm down on my luck. I'm trying to get my independent record label off the ground."
"Oh? Independent label. That explains that. Do you have a MySpace music page yet?"
"Of course."
"Well, the legendary Chess Records was independent and I don't remember any of the Chess family squatting; maybe if you took the time to help guide your artists into recording some shit that will sell you could be successful like they were. For a while. Back in the day."
"Hey man. I'm working hard."
I wanted to scream "GET A JOB, HIPPIE!" But I didn't want to ruin my chances of getting a record deal if I ever needed one. Plus I know there are plenty of you fine readers out there working on getting record deals.
One of the other squatters walked up to me and tried to sell me a Sirius satellite radio.
"What the fuck? Is satellite radio that bad off?"
"Yeah!"
"Well maybe if you weren't trying to get people to pay for some shit that the internet is giving away you'd be on to something!!"
"HEY! WE'VE GOT HOWARD STERN!!!"
The third squatter was a former roadie for The Cure. He was wearing a ton of make-up and looked like a bad Robert Smith impersonator. I asked candidly, "So, what's your story?"
"I toured with The Cure from 1987 to 1988."
"And what have you been doing since then?"
"Moving from city to city, living in dark, gothic buildings."
"Has anyone ever told you you're trying too hard?"
"No."
"Well maybe if you got a fucking job and stopped living in shitholes you'd make some friends that would actually talk to you and tell you that shit!"
I then turned to manzoku, "I'm calling Dee Snider up right now. What the fuck is he doing? He's desecrating our former 'holy site' of sorts!"
I got Dee on the phone and asked him about the decrepit condition of my former site of greatness. He just told me he was no longer interested in the building.
"Yeah, I bought it. I don't need it any more."
"Sooo... Do you want me to buy it back? I'd be willing to take it off your hands so that you don't totally ruin our former holy site!"
"No. I want to hold onto it in case I need it again."
"Do you realize that there are roadies, salesmen, and wanna-be music industry insiders living in here?"
"Yeah. I know the one guy, the one that was in The Cure or some shit. He used to park cars at this restaurant in Seattle I—"
I hung up. I told manzoku about the conversation and he put it in plain terms,
"Look. This isn't our home anymore. We've got a new home. It's bigger and better and even deffer than this place. This is Dee Snider's place now. If he's got no personal pride, that's not our fucking problem."
Good point. Before we left we went through some closets to see what old crap we abandoned. I uncovered a box I long forgot about: The "lost" Jerome Benton essays. They weren't actually lost; I got them in the mail a long time ago. I was in a bad mood that day and they ended getting thrown against the wall and they landed behind a file cabinet (I do that a lot when I get angry). I packed them up but opted to conveniently forget them when we left. I decided to take them with. Maybe they'll become part of my "revamping" of EliminationDept.com.
After we grabbed up the rest of the shit we left behind (two tape guns, a VCR, and a 8 track player that I had to wrestle the indie record label guy to get back), we took off. I saluted our old home one last time before going back to the new office to plan a covert demolition mission with Don King. I'll be damned if Dee Snider is going to desecrate our former holy site. Damned I tell you!
Gear up for another exciting edition of Ask Zakk!! Yes, legendary guitarist Zakk Wylde is here exclusively giving advice to the millions upon millions of readers of the Elimination Dept. LiveJournal. Let's get this bitch-ass party started!
Elliott from Minnesota writes: It gets cold here in Minnesota in the winter time. I'm big into science and I wanted to invent a device that would help keep my girlfriend's pussy warm. I want to build her a heated dildo; preferably one that self-generates energy so as to eliminate the need for batteries or any kind of electronic components. I need a grant to pay for my device. No colleges will even consider granting me money to create this ground-breaking device! Could you please give me some money? Once this thing takes off I will pay you back and name it after you!
Tony from Alaska writes: Hey Zakk, I used to date a midget. She's was really hot and had a great set of cans, but she was a midget and I got made fun of for dating her. I tried to put up with the taunting because, you know, I didn't want to be ignorant. But enough was enough recently and I decided to buy her some prosthetic legs. She asked me why I bought prosthetic legs and I said, "Well, we're gonna chop your midget legs off and give you some taller legs." She had her brother (who is 6' 4" and 300 lbs.) beat the living shit out of me. How do I get her back?
Virginia from New York writes: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, 'If you see it in ASK ZAKK it's so.' Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?
Did Zakk Wylde just tell some little kid that Santa is a pedophile?? What the shit? I'm gonna have to reconsider running this Ask Zakk column if this is the kind of trash he is going to write! Write Zakk at askzakk@hotmail.com. Poor Virginia. All she wanted to know is if Santa Claus existed...
Alright, I feel like takin' it easy today, so I went through a scrap pile I have here in my office and today I am going to present to you rejected entry ideas. Yes, I went through the piles and piles of paper that I haven't organized in about 12 months and I found the beginning to a few different entries that I decided not to complete. After you read these you will see why I never decided to complete them.
If you see something you really like, feel free to take it and turn it into something. Or maybe I'll do something with these if I get enough positive feedback.
Here's the first one... You'll love this one. I scrapped this because of how boring it started out:
Elimination Dept. Salute: Doorbells
Have you ever stopped to appreciate the doorbell? The doorbell has been an integral part of interpersonal communications for quite some years. Joseph Henry invented the doorbell in 1831 and if I could somehow go back in time I would thank him.
I realized my love for the doorbell the other day when I was sitting around the office and someone rang our doorbell. Now, our doorbell is pretty simple, but it didn't ring right. I decided to play Mr. Fix-It and fix my damn doorbell. Boy was it complicated! You see, the doorbell uses something called a solenoid. What a cool name! It is an electromagnet of sorts where the coiled wire surrounds a metal piston.
Alright, I'm falling asleep already. If you really want to know about doorbells go to about.com or Wikipedia or something. I stopped writing the entry when I realized that I don't really care about doorbells that much. That whole bit about fixing our doorbell: false. I just wrote that in there to try and "beef up" the entry. On to the next reject:
Helping Coolio
Coolio is heading back into the recording studio. As you know, Coolio and I don't get along too well. He usually shows up and fucks up all of my entries, but he wanted to record a new album and I felt obliged to help him with it.
The new album, which is called The Return Of The Gangsta, is out. In the end my help was not needed, but the story of how I came to help Coolio with his record was one of hilarious proportions.
You see, Coolio has done songs about shooting cops and getting government cheese in the past; not exactly the uppity "Gangsta Paradise" stuff that made him a hit with white people. He wanted to be "hard" again and get to the heart of the problems in the hood and cause people in the ghetto to be enraged at the injustice they've been served. With this in mind, I wrote a few songs for him. Of course, I'm a white boy from the suburbs, so my knowledge of inner city plight is pretty limited, but here's what I came up with:
I know a place where the whites won't come The police want us dead and I get fucked up on rum If I ever see a white under the street light There's gonna be a big fight and the heat will be tight So whitey stay out my part of town Because I know already you here to exploit the black and the brown.
[CHORUS]
Whitey back down! Whitey stay down! You don't wanna come around Keep your simple ass downtown!
Ouch.... Those lyrics were embarrassing. I decided not to go on about my time with Coolio in the interested of not completely embarrassing myself. That and I don't want him coming around. It seems like every time I mention his name he shows up unexpectedly. In fact, just mentioning him now means he'll have some done shit to say at the end of this entry. On to the next reject:
The Middle East
Okay, here's what I think we should do in the Middle East.
Oh shit no! I'm not touching that hot issue with a ten-foot pole. I wrote that on a post-it note and then changed my mind immediately.
The Pothole Plan
Potholes are overtaking the home city of the Elimination Dept.! We must put a stop to this!
I grabbed up Don King and the late Jimi Hendrix to solve this problem. Why Jimi Hendrix? Well, what you never realized about Jimi Hendrix was that he was an expert urban planner!
That last one actually goes on for a few more paragraphs about Jimi's background in urban planning. It was so god-awful that I am burning the piece of scrap paper it was written on as I type this. This next one is quite pitiful as well, but not as bad as bringing Jimi Hendrix back from the dead to help me with potholes (Although, bringing Hendrix back from the dead to kick box with 2Pac did end up making for an interesting Halloween story).
Toilet Problems
There has been an ongoing saga in the men's shitter here at the Elimination Dept. The toilet keeps running and running and running. Every time I fix it (some little fucker keeps jamming the little plastic cover up in the tank) it breaks again. I've left the top off of the tank to watch the toilet operate properly only to have it malfunction minutes later.
As is always the case at the Elimination Dept., we always just happen to have top-notch surveillance technology laying around. I set up a hidden camera inside the toilet tank and another above the door of the stall, and another above the door of the bathroom. There wasn't any chance anybody or anything was going to do anything without my noticing.
The one thing I did notice was Huko DP sneaking into one of the other stalls late at night at leaving an upper decker . I was initially pissed when I watched the footage the next day, but then I saw Jerome Benton enter that same stall and do his duty. When that brown water came gushing into the bowl he looked around in a state of panic. He then threw some extra toilet paper in the bowl (as if that's gonna help) and then ran out of the room without properly wiping.
I was in tears from laughing so hard. After watching that hilarious spectacle, I found out what was causing all my anguish with the mysterious malfunctioning stall. There was a nasty, disgusting mole living in the tank. That little fucker snuck in about a minute after Jerome finally cleared out. He walked across the floor, stopped for a second to smell Jerome/Huko's mess, let out an audible "eww" (quite a feat for a fucking mole) and then casually crawled into the tank of the toilet. That little fucker!
I actually don't know why I didn't finish that one; it seems like it was actually going somewhere. There's a solid storyline there along with a potential follow-up entry saluting upper deckers. All in favor of me finishing that wonderful story, speak up. All those in favor of me scrapping the entire idea, speak up also.
Huko Goes To Church
According to legend, one day Huko walked into manzoku's home office and proclaimed that he wanted to go to church. manzoku looked at him like he was crazy, but Huko explained exactly what he meant.
"I've had it up to here with being a filthy degenerate of sorts. My ways have been causing anguish to you, Eliminator, his organization, and the many, many women I've laid the pipe to. I need to repent."
When asked if he had any specific church in mind he said the Willow Creek church. This church is a very large, very prestigious church located about 45 minutes away from Elimination Dept. Headquarters.
manzoku reluctantly decided to take him there; he took Huko to headquarters and convinced Don King to drive him up to Willow Creek. The entire way there they tried to talk him out of it. Don King was the most vocal opponent.
"Do you realize what happens in church? You confess! I can't let you confess to some of the things you've seen me do."
manzoku was more concerned about the integrity of the church.
"Man, if this is a hoax, say so before we get there."
"manzoku, Don, this is what I must do. No more can I quote gangsta rap lyrics and demean women. I'm actually deeply offended that you don't think this is for real. I must cleanse myself. I have done things that can only be described as wicked."
"Well, if that's what he wants. Then that's it. Let's help him become the more tame, new Huko," Don King conceded.
For the rest of the trip all was quiet. Huko spoke up as they pulled up in the parking lot of Willow Creek, "Aw, fuck it. Let's go to the waffle house."
The only reason I never used that one is because that's all there is to it. It is more like a mini-entry. Plus, I'm not sure if the ending is that funny. I guess you "had to be there." When manzoku told me the story the next day I pissed my pants and punched a hole in the wall because I was laughing so hard. I guess it is all in the delivery; probably doesn't translate well in writing.
Well, that's it; some of the junk I've prevented you people from reading. For your own good, as you can see. Like I said at the beginning: It's all public domain. Do with it what you will, or if you think I can salvage some of these, let me know.
So, as I had promised previously, I wanted to make Ken Lay pay. That fucker got off easy when he died a few months back before he got a chance to be sentenced for ripping people off. I wanted him to pay and I wanted him to pay badly. Unfortunately he's dead, so he's practically inaccessible. But then I remembered the time we infiltrated hell, with the help of Don King, of course. I knew that Lay would be there, so I grabbed up Don King and my trusty manzoku and headed on down to Hell to find that piece of shit.
Of course, as you read before, Hell is a pain in the ass to get to, so it took a few days of sweating and nearly killing each other to finally get down there. Once we got down there we had to hunt down Lay. Hell is still the same, decrepit, degenerate, steaming hot place it has always been, with the same crappy tittie bar and the same crappy jukebox that we saw last time we visited. We went and found Ken Lay sitting near the stage of the tittie bar. In one hand was a stripper's tit, in the other a cell phone; he was talking to Dubya, his old pal.
I turned to manzoku and asked, "Bush can communicate with the dead?"
"He's a fucking creep."
"Yep."
We grabbed Lay, tied him up, and then tried to get him out of there without Satan noticing. We got our lives threatened by Satan on our way to the door. King paid him handsomely to let us go with our cargo to which Lay responded, "Everybody's like me in some way."
I smacked him and told him to shut up. Then we had to drag his old ass back up to surface level. What a fucking bitch that was. We almost dropped him down the stairs to Hell twice. Fuck.
We decided to take Ken Lay to Guantanamo Bay to make sure he got the punishment he deserved. Our plan was to drop him off at the front gate and claim he was an enemy combatant that we detained by citizen's arrest. Of course, the first hurdle was getting into Cuba. King figured that all out after calling Castro on his cell phone. Damn... Don King....
We got to Cuba and arrived at the front gate of the Guantanamo Bay Naval Base and we were greeted by armed guards. We presented them with our package: A naked Ken Lay bound and gagged with duct tape. I told the fine naval Officers that our prisoner was an enemy combatant and we caught him trying to poison donuts at a Krispy Kreme in Manhattan. The guard radioed inside and told us it would just be a minute. We waited patiently as he walked out of hearing range to talk with someone inside.
He came back over to us and two more Officers pulled up in a Jeep. I nearly shit my pants. I knew what this meant: We were all fucked.
"You are all under arrest for being enemy combatants and trying to attack the Naval Base of Guantanamo Bay. You are now enemy combatants and will be held here until we see fit for you to leave!"
"THIS CANNOT BE! CALL A LAWYER! CALL A SUPREME COURT JUSTICE," I cried. Then we were hauled off, split up and locked in dank, solitary cells with no windows. We were stripped of our clothes and our dignity. Then an Officer came into my cell with a car battery and some jumper cables that he used as nipple clamps to torture me.
"WHERE'S OSAMA???!!?!?!?!?!?!"
"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!! I'M JUST HERE TO DROP OFF A COMBATANT!!"
"COME ON... TELL US WHO YOU'RE WITH!!"
"I'M HERE TO DROP OFF A TERRORIST. I'M TRYING TO BE A PATRIOT!!!"
That was bullshit; I was trying to punish Ken Lay, not be a patriot. They weren't buying any of it. manzoku and Don King were suffering their own brand of torture in their cells. Eventually we were all rounded up and thrown together into a dingy basement room. Four Officers came in looking to humiliate us. The guy who was apparently in charge told us what we would be in for.
"Alright you turban-headed maggots, here's what you're in for. First I'm gonna beat the living hell out of you with this Holy Qur'an, then we are going to humiliate you by stripping you down to your underwear and having these strippers grind on you."
Don King spoke up enthusiastically, "You mean you're going to stop shoving objects in my urethra and give me some strippers to fuck. Hey! This trip is finally turning around!"
"QUITE, MAGGOT!! DID I TELL YOU SAND NIGGERS YOU COULD TALK?!?"
Don King asked calmly, "You didn't just say that word, did you?"
"YOU'RE GOD-DAMN RIGHT I DID, SAND NIGGER!"
It should be noted that Don King is of African-American decent while manzoku and I are Caucasian. I'm not sure why this person was picking the particular racial epithets he was using, but Don King heard that 'n' word and went ballistic.
"YOU'RE ALL DEAD MEN!"
The four Officers pulled out their guns, but Don King wouldn't back down.
"YOU DON'T THINK I'VE HAD GUNS PULLED ON ME BEFORE. I GOT A GUN RIGHT HERE!"
Don King had a gun too; hidden between his asscheeks, Willie Dynamite style. He broke out of his restraints and grabbed the gun out of his ass. He shot three of the four Officers dead. The only one still living was the one who appeared to be in charge. He had his gun pointed right at Don King and Don King screamed,
"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM, CRACKER!"
"You're one dead terrorist!!"
"DON KING! BEST BOXING PROMOTER EVER. I EAT HONKEY'S BULLETS!! I SCREWED OVER MIKE TYSON! YOU AIN'T NO MATCH FOR ME!!!"
"You're not Don King, you're a terrorist that is in a Don King costume!"
"YOU STUPID HONKEY!! LOOK AT THIS FACE!! I'M DON KING!!"
At this point, the Officer didn't look so sure of himself, he started shaking a little.
"Well, if you were really Don King, you'd be an upstanding American and not trying to sneak into our facility."
"I WASN'T SNEAKING IN, STUPID ASS, I BROUGHT YOU THIS ENEMY COMBATANT!!"
"I-I see. We'll let you go then, no hard feelings."
"ALRIGHT THEN. WHERE'S THE DOOR!"
At that point I yelled to Don, "HEY! Don't forget us!"
"OH YEAH, LET THESE TWO CRACKERS GO TOO!"
The Officer immediately complied and untied us.
At this point Lay, with a terrified look in his eyes, was screaming while he was naked and handcuffed in a chair. "HEY! What about me!"
manzoku, as he was putting his clothes on, told the Officer matter-of-factly, "He's a fucking terrorist."
The Officer showed us the way out and said, "Don't worry. We'll take care of your capture very well." He then winked and then walked away with a devilish grin on his face.
Don King arranged for one of Castro's drivers to pick us up. We then spent the rest of the evening at Castro's house drinking and shooting pool. I turned to manzoku and told him how I felt.
"I feel dirty. First we turn Lay over to a prison that is known for torturing prisoners. Now we are hanging out with Castro."
"Man, I don't feel dirty about any of this shit. Lay is a fucking dick and Castro is one hell of a party-thrower!"
"Shouldn't we be trying to shut down Guantanamo Bay instead of enabling them?"
"One thing at a time, Eliminator."
We finally made it back to America and I am now here to share my extremely creepy tale with you. Was it worth all the torture we received just to get revenge on Lay? I'm sure there is some moral in this story about never getting revenge, but I am prepared to say that it was absolutely 100% worth it!
It's the only office not up for grabs today, but that didn't stop manzoku from steam-rolling straight ahead with his campaign for mayor of Chicago. People took notice when we took over Q101 recently, including Phil Ponce, host of Chicago Tonight on PBS. He asked manzoku to come on the show and discuss his "bizarre" campaign. I spoke with him on the phone about having my candidate on the show. I was mad when Phil used the word "bizarre" in reference to our campaign antics.
"The fuck you mean, 'bizarre?' This campaign is hot! We are touching people all over the fuckin' place!"
"Well, taking over an FM radio station is kind of a bizarre way to campaign. Jesse Jackson, Jr. isn't doing that kind of stuff. It's wild!"
"Has Jesse Jackson, Jr. even officially announced his candidacy yet?"
"I think he says he is up to an 8.2 chance of running."
"Oooh... That's up from 7.5!"
"Yes it is."
Fuckin' Phil... talking shit about my main man, manzoku; fuck him. I liked Chicago Tonight better when Bob Sirott hosted it.
Aside from the appearance on Chicago Tonight we tried to rally the college vote by walking around the Northeastern Illinois University campus, which happens to house the studios of Chicago's local PBS station, WTTW. We decided to walk around the parking lot and talk to some college students.
The first student manzoku greeted was on his way to class. He stopped briefly and told manzoku that he was, indeed, an informed voter.
"Oh yes, unlike the majority of people out there, I am not stupid."
Then manzoku asked him who he was going to vote for in the mayoral election.
"Well, Jesse Jackson Jr., of course. This city needs some color. I'm sick of the underlying racism in politics in Chicago."
He was one of the whitest people you would ever meet; plus he was wearing a really ugly t-shirt.
"Honestly, I wouldn't vote for you because you are white. You are just more of the same."
"Same what?"
"Whiteness. Whiteness is what is corrupting Chicago politics."
"Um, have you looked in the mirror? Whitey! And on top of that, the current County Board controversy surrounds the black Stroger family. Why are you being racist and bringing color into this?"
"Obviously you are an undereducated American cheese ball."
"Oh hell no. It's time for a whoopin'. I wish Don King was here to hear this!"
I stopped manzoku from stomping out the pathetic, arrogant, dumbass and moved him along to another student. This was a really tall dude that was walking around listening to an iPod and wearing a jean jacket. manzoku was still yelling at the other student as he approached this guy.
"And you can take that smug attitude and go fuck yourself. I can't wait until you drop out you dickwad!!"
The second student expressed concern with manzoku's outburst. "Huh? Wha... Drop out? I just started!"
"I wasn't talking to you. Never mind. I'm manzoku and I'm running for mayor!"
"Oh, hi."
"Vote for me."
"I probably won't vote."
"You won't vote?!?! Why not?!?!"
"I-I don't believe in the patronage system."
"What if I said I was going to change the patronage system?"
"Well... I don't know if I believe you can do tha—"
"Fuck this! Let's go on TV!"
manzoku abruptly cut off his "meet-n-greet" and we walked over to the PBS studios. Then manzoku got to shine on TV:
Phil Ponce: Tonight our guest is manzoku, one of many candidates vying for Mayor Daley's job. manzoku, welcome to Chicago Tonight
Phil Ponce: Now a lot of people are threatening to run for Mayor. Your foremost and most outspoken opponent is Jesse Jackson, Jr. He hasn't even confirmed he's running for mayor yet, but he has spoken out against your candidacy.
manzoku: Yeah, Jesse seems pretty upset that I am taking the fire from his campaign.
Phil Ponce: That's a pretty lofty proclamation. How do you plan to beat Daley in the mayoral race?
manzoku: Not only will I be "anti-patronage," I will also take on other issues and have an opinion of them. You know, the whole race for Governor with Blagojevich and that ugly bitch is marred with accusations of corruption. Where do these people stand on health care? Where do they stand on terrorism? I know where they stand on patronage jobs and corruption because they both have benefited from them. I intend to get people to listen to me on the issues!
Phil Ponce: Well, that's very honorable. One of the toughest issues to date is the Big Box Ordinance. If the City Council decides to try and push this through again, will you be with them or against them on it.
manzoku: I hate Wal-Mart. That said, I also hate the idea of an out of control city council. However, I understand that they speak for the people, so I wouldn't want to stock the pond with my own fish, so to speak. Most of these guys are community leaders and I will strongly consider any ideas they present me with.
Phil Ponce: Wow! My head is spinning from that answer. Are you for or against the Big Box Ordinance?
Phil Ponce: Um. Okay... Let's move on to another question. [Shuffles through notes]. What do you think of the accusations that 16th ward Alderman Shirley Coleman helped push through real estate scams for a friend, who allegedly stated that they really ran the ward?
manzoku: I think this is just a case of someone getting caught. I believe this is a wide-scale thing that is finally getting uncovered.
Phil Ponce: Do you intend to clean city council out?
manzoku: The voters will have to decide that. I'll do my best to keep corruption at bay.
Phil Ponce: What if it doesn't work?
manzoku: Then I haven't done my job. I wouldn't even run for office if I didn't think I could do the damn job!
Phil Ponce: What about funding for PBS? How will you handle that?
manzoku: I don't think the city has anything to do with funding PBS. That's all the feds.
Phil Ponce: Maybe the city should fund PBS. Don't you think the city could earmark some money for spending on PBS?
Phil Ponce: Instead of helping channel 11, the city started the cable access channel, Channel 25, "The Pulse Of Chicago," which pretty much left us in the dark.
manzoku: I'll see what I can do once I become mayor. I'll have to check with the city council.
Phil Ponce: That sounds like a cop-out. Trust me, the city council will love to help the new, beloved mayor who won election by getting the PBS crowd to vote for him by getting lots of face time on Chicago Tonight.
manzoku: Are you offering me TV time in exchange for me lobbying for some city taxpayer-funded PBS donations?
Phil Ponce: Whoa! Hey now! You're putting words in my mouth.
Phil Ponce: Up next we have commentary from columnist Debra Pickett. She will be discussing our decision to have Mancow on Chicago Tonight for commentary.
Was I to deduce from that exchange that Phil Ponce, host of the esteemed Chicago Tonight program, was offering manzoku airtime in exchange for his lobbying for financial support from the city government? What the hell is wrong with people? Everywhere we go we run into this. I swear, people in this town just aren't that worried about the political machine. Sheesh. This is going to make this campaign quite an uphill battle.
Hot damn! If we're gonna make this show successful and get it on TV we gotta step it up a bit! Rob Sherman is looking to get back on TV! That's big-time competition for us! That was the audience I was trying to captivate with this show!
Well, no sense in sitting back and bickering, let's just step the show up a notch. Hopefully this edition of The Eliminator Show will be a ratings killer for Rob Sherman!
Eliminator: Welcome to the Eliminator Show. Oh, have we got a show for you tonight! Our guest tonight is Ann Coulter.
manzoku: No, fuck her. Really, she can suck my dick.
Eliminator: Alrighty... Before we bring out Ann, let's bring out everybody's favorite onstage valet: Jerome Benton!
[CROWD CHEERS WILDLY WHILE JEROME BENTON WALKS OUT AND HAS A SEAT]
Eliminator: So we had you go spy on that "other show" that is gearing up for a return to television.
Jerome Benton: Yes, I did go and peek in on that "other show."
Eliminator: What did you learn? Is there anything we need to do different to make our show a success?
Jerome Benton: Oh, that show is wack. I think we're doing good. Take a look at this:
Jerome Benton: So we're undercover on the set of the Rob [censored] Show. There he is right over there; I'm pretending to be a sound guy. I'm gonna walk over with my boom mic to see what he talks about before he goes on the air.
Rob [censored]:[with blurred face] So then I told [censored] that it is okay to be in your fifties and still be horny. Our sex life has always been great. Hey! What are you doing with that microphone?
Jerome Benton: I'm the microphone guy.
Rob [censored]: I have a microphone right here on my jacket. You see it? I don't use boom mics. WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE?
Jerome Benton: Well folks, it looks like it is time to get the fuck up outta here.
[JEROME RUNS FOR THE DOOR WITH ROB SHERMAN CHASING AFTER HIM]
Rob [censored]: Get back here! You work for the republicans, don't you?!? Are you Alan Keyes?
Jerome Benton: I was hoping to get more footage, but he doesn't really have a "crew" on his show like we do.
Eliminator: We do have to give props to Pete, the new union janitor here at the Elimination Dept. Headquarters. He makes a good cameraman and boom mic operator! Alright, let's keep this show rolling, let's bring out our special guest. Ladies and gentleman! Ann Coulter.
Eliminator: Yes, well, I'm being fair and having you on the show. So what's your beef against anybody that isn't a perfect Aryan? Are you some sort of Nazi?
Ann Coulter: No, but I am a God-fearing Christian woman who believes that our country should have some sort of value system. We have a race of rag heads that want us all dead.
Eliminator: Well, isn't it unfair to Arabs that live in the U.S. to be lumped in with radical terrorists? How can you summarily dismiss Arabs as bad people simply because some of them want us all dead?
Ann Coulter: I think all of them want us dead. They should be rounded up. All the rag heads in the U.S. should be interred until Osama Bin Laden is caught and executed.
Eliminator: Do you know how insane that sounds?
Ann Coulter: It is not insane, it is what is going to save this country! I'm tired of liberals like you thinking that everybody is equal.
[THE AUDIENCE BOOS LOUDLY]
Eliminator: Because... you know... that's crazy. Even though we've been preaching equality in this country since, oh... SINCE IT STARTED!!
Ann Coulter: Look, I'm all for rag heads having rights. They have a right to get me to the airport on time; they just can't come inside the airport. They can take their magic carpets back home and, you know what, they can stay there.
[AGAIN, AUDIENCE BOOS.]
Eliminator: Pardon me if this sounds cold, but could you be a dumber fucking bitch?
Ann Coulter: I don't think I'm being dumb. Quite frankly, Eliminator, I think you have demonstrated yourself to me the dumbest per—
[COULTER IS HIT WITH A TOMATO THAT SOMEONE IN THE AUDIENCE THREW. THE AUDIENCE CHEERS WILDLY]
Eliminator: Whoa! Direct hit! Are you from Harvey?
Jerome Benton: That's what I'm talking about. Hit that bitch. Yeah!
Eliminator:[To Jerome] Why are you even still out here? The only person on that couch should be manzoku.
Jerome Benton: Because I hate this dumb cracker, racist biatch!! Say it with me, everybody: BIATCH!
[THE CROWD STARTS CHANTING "BIATCH!" SO DOES manzoku]
Eliminator: Everybody stop this chanting—HAHA!—We got a show to—HAHAHA—do. Oh, Ann, do you need help with getting that tomato off?
Ann Coulter: I think this speaks volumes about how you liberals are all degenerates.
Jerome Benton: Degenerates? You fucking Nazi! How could you call us degenerates? Who's the dumb bitch that's been using the term "rag head" on the show? Not me, hoe.
Ann Coulter: Oh you know what, whatever your name is, buzz off. Keep voting democratic because you feel it will help your people?
[AUDIENCE BOOS]
Jerome Benton: My people?!?! Now you hate blacks?
manzoku: I think that's what she said, Jerome. Fuck that bitch!
Jerome Benton: I'm gonna solve this little problem right now!
[JEROME DROPS HIS PANTS AND STARTS WAVING HIS COCK IN ANN'S FACE]
Ann Coulter:[Swatting at Jerome's cock] Oh, now really... Get that out of here.
Jerome Benton: Yeah bitch. Look at what my people got!
Eliminator: Jerome, put that thing away!
zorandra: Can somebody remind me why I participate in this show?
Jerome Benton: You know what I got for you Ann. Those are some nice shoes? Are they new?
[CROWD CHEERS WILDLY AS JEROME URINATES ON ANN COULTER'S SHOES]
Eliminator: Will somebody force him to put his pants back on?
Ann Coulter: Well, I've seen enough.
[ANN COULTER EXITS STAGE TO A ROAR OF BOOS. SECURITY IS HAVING A HARD TIME RESTRAINING AUDIENCE MEMBERS FROM CHASING HER OFF STAGE. A GROUP OF AUDIENCE MEMBERS TRIP AND STUMBLE DOWN THE STAIRS ONTO THE STAGE]
Eliminator:[attempting to talk over cheers and boos] Well, I hope your happy Jerome.
So last week, manzoku got his campaign for mayor of Chicago underway. It took quite a toll on him. He saw city workers getting paid to go to strip clubs, had an old lady ask for a bribe in return for a vote, and even got accused of being a racist of all things.
Well, we decided to fight back in the media. What better way to fight back than in the media? We started off by going to Channel 5 to try and get on that City Desk show they have. When we got there we got confronted by one of the show's producers.
"Hi! I'm Nathan Cloninksi, and this is manzoku, he's running for mayor. We want to be on City Desk to discuss topical issues!"
"Yeah. Know who you are. Don't care. We don't have time for frivolous candidates."
"Frivolous candidates? This is a real race. manzoku here is determined to topple the Daley regime!"
"Get in line. We did a poll in conjunction with the Chicago Sun-Times. You're just not popular enough to be on our show."
"Since when has news programming become a popularity contest?!?"
Both the producer and manzoku looked at me like I was crazy. Apparently I've been out of the loop; there's no hard-hitting news left. We decided to hit NPR, there was no way they would turn us away!
We went on the "Eight Forty Eight" program; it is the Chicago news magazine program they have on in the mornings. We were asked a bunch of boring questions about the Chicago Bears and construction on the Dan Ryan. They finally asked a good question when they asked manzoku about the Meigs Field debacle:
"That was just plain wrong. It cost the city a million dollars and I have yet to be convinced that the park is going to be a money maker."
Then the host asked him if it would have been better as an airport.
"Since it was only an airport used primarily by wealthy people, don't you think a park will be better used by the public?"
manzoku quipped, "Oh boy... We should have gone on Lin Brehmer's show. At least there we might have heard 'Dream Police' and been able to sing along."
That right there got us kicked off the show. manzoku smelled a setup and spoke on it. Who knew that NPR was so competitive that they wouldn't tolerate the mentioning of competitors. Since when has NPR been about ratings? Sheesh!
After a failed attempt to be a guest on WVON, the premier black talk radio station in the city, we decided to take the law into our own hands.
We decided to take over a radio station like a bunch of radicals. We found the perfect radio station: Q101. Aside from having dismal ratings, their new, absolutely hilarious—just ask them—morning show is made up of a bunch of pansies that we could easily overtake. The old Q101 morning show had extremely large people like Al Roker, Jr. and Turd as part of the show. You can't fuck with a guy named Turd, but you can fuck with guys named James Engel and Michael McCarthy.
So between and manzoku, we were able to effectively whoop ass in the Q101 studio and take over the whole radio station for a whole morning. We took calls from concerned voters and even the general manager of the station!
manzoku: Alright Chicago, I kicked Alan Cox and his whole morning crew out of the studio. I'm taking over. You see, this is how Mayor Daley runs the city: He takes over whatever he wants. I just did it here in this radio studio to help demonstrate how easy it is for Daley to do whatever he wants. Don't you want to be in control of your city? Then vote for me, manzoku for mayor.
Eliminator: And I'm Nathan Cloninski. I'm manzoku's campaign manager. Today we are here on Chicago radio giving you a voice. Call us up, 591-8300. Don't request any damn alternative songs, only call if you have a question for manzoku. We've cast aside the absolutely hilarious—just ask them—new morning team so that we could be closer to you. Does Daley care enough about you to take over a radio station? I don't think so...
manzoku: Let's get some calls going, here! I've got issues I'd like to discuss with you.
Eliminator: I think we have a caller, hello? Caller?
Turd: Yeah, hey guys, now that you're doing mornings, you think I could have a job?
Eliminator: Um, I think this is only temporary. One of the new guys is trying to throw a chair through the window.
manzoku: Man, that guy looks pissed. Hey, it was nice hearing from you Turd. Vote for me for mayor. Next caller.
Caller: Hi, manzoku, I wanna know what you are going to do about public education. How the hell am I supposed to send my kids to these neglected schools?
manzoku: I have an education initiative that I am planning on unveiling called "Stop wasting money!" It will involve paring down the number of Aldermen from 50 to 30. That's an extra two million a year in cash right there. Then there will be the "no patronage" initiative. I won't be padding city payrolls with 30 extra employees. So that's a bunch of extra money. I won't tear up airports and have to give back federal money and pay hefty fines. I will also stop city workers from stealing money.
Caller: Isn't that a bit lofty for a guy who I never heard of before?
manzoku: Not at all. That's what we need in this city. A guy you never heard of before! Let's take another call.
Another Caller: Hi. Why should I vote you over Jesse Jackson Jr.?
manzoku: Simple. I will not race-bait and continue with business as usual. If I may speculate for a moment, I think Jesse Jackson Jr.'s purpose is to continue on with the patronage jobs. I'd be willing to bet he feels there is a lack of black people getting patronage job from the white Mayor Daley. I think Jackson's major initiative is to get more black people in patronage jobs and do little else. Ask him what he stands for. Go ahead!
Another Caller: Maybe I will!
Eliminator: Alright, let's take another caller.
Don King: God Bless America! Turd for mayor.
Eliminator: Uh, hey, Don! No, we're not running Turd for mayor, we're running manzoku for mayor.
Don King: Oh yeah! manzoku for mayor! He's a great mayor. Not as great as Mayor Daley, but great anyway!!
Eliminator: Uh, thanks for nothing, Don. Next caller!
Jesse Jackson, Jr.: I think you've proven yourselves to be big racists today.
Eliminator: How's your illegitimate little sibling?
Jesse Jackson, Jr.: You're gonna resort to personal attacks because you have no answers.
manzoku: Calling a member of my campaign team an Uncle Tom isn't a personal attack?
Jesse Jackson, Jr.: If he's a member of your team, you're losing. He doesn't care about you anyway.
Eliminator: Oh thanks for your concern, dickweed. We'll see you at the debate. WE'LL LET THE PEOPLE DECIDE!!
Jesse Jackson, Jr.: Ladies and Gentleman, this man is not serious about his campaign. He doesn't have a clue about being mayor! If you vote for this guy you're voting for four years of absolute misery.
manzoku: I don't know if your message is going to get across, seeing as this station is a Klan meeting and all.
Eliminator: Let's stop wasting time. On to the next caller!
Marv Nyren: This is Marv Nyren, general manager of Q101. I am putting a stop to this. The police will be here shortly.
Marv Nyren: Thanks to you guys we missed two traffic and weather updates, sports, a parody song, and even this half-hour's guest.
Eliminator: Well, we had three guests in the last five minutes! We had Turd, Don King, AND Jesse Jackson Jr. I bet this new morning show can't top that! And traffic is shitty. What's news about that?
Marv Nyren: NO CURSING! MY WITTY NEW MORNING SHOW!! YOU'VE RUINED IT!
manzoku: My bad. Hey Eliminator, the cops are going to be here any minute. Let's sign off.
Eliminator: I go by Nathan when I'm your campaign manager.
And that was the end of our radio career. I don't know how much that helped the campaign, but we had a good fucking time doing it. I think we did expose Jesse Jackson Jr. as a fraud. He is correct that Q101's audience is primarily white, but that is the vote he should be trying to get. They are the ones who will need the most convincing. And he just fucked that up. manzoku just might win this race after all!
Get The Marshmallows And The Stadium Chairs, It's Story Time!
[30 Oct 2006|04:26pm]
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Undead
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Ladies and Gentleman: It is time once again for what has become the annual Elimination Dept. Halloween story! Yes, every year I sit down to craft a fictional Halloween story. I struggle hard to bring you these stories, since, as regular readers know, I don't do much fictional writing here on LiveJournal.
This year's story is quite a doozy. I originally came up with the idea for this story while doing some spring cleaning of unfinished entries. So here it is, in all its campy glory: The Halloween Story:
Deep in the heart of Warsaw, Poland lived a very eccentric scientist. This scientist was known to the people in his neighborhood only as "that scientist." People in the neighborhood believed that the scientist had a Frankenstein monster in his house. It was only a rumor; there was no Frankenstein monster, but the scientist had an obsession with creating life and resurrecting life. He had little space to create such monsters; he lived in a two bedroom house with a small basement, but little did the people of the neighborhood know of what he really had planned. While the neighbors were agonizing over a monster that didn't actually exist, the scientist was planning to resurrect two very prominent figures.
Although he was well versed in life creation, he was not well versed in black music. For years he had heard friends argue over top artists and who was "the best." Names he had always heard included The Beatles, Elvis, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Menudo, and black artists including Curtis Mayfield, Jimi Hendrix, and Tupac Shakur.
One night during a heated argument, two of his friends were arguing over Tupac Shakur and Jimi Hendrix. One friend was adamant in his denial that Tupac Shakur should be considered a "great" artist on the level of Jimi Hendrix. The scientist joked that they "should fight it out in heaven to see who wins." His friends laughed it off. One friend said, "Scientist! You're at it again with your silly shit!"
The scientist was not too pleased with the ribbing he got from his friends, so he set out to find out who was better. The completely feasible and simplistic plan to find out: Resurrect both of them and have them kick box each other; the winner is then the greater of the two. The scientist was also fascinated and well versed in martial arts; to him this was a reasonable solution. The scientist would invite his friends over to watch the match and to gain their respect; at least he thought he would.
After agonizing over the logistics of making such an event happen (he had to first grave rob both of their bodies, figure out a way to pump life back into them, and then somehow convince the newly resurrected people to kick box each other), he finally made his dream come true. Standing in his cramped basement were two music legends brought back to life from the dead: James Marshall Hendrix and Tupac Amaru Shakur. The two of them looked at each other. Jimi spoke first, "Far out man."
He then looked at Tupac, "Hey? Did you bring me back here, man? That was wild?"
Tupac responded, "Oh Shit! Jimi Hendrix. God Damn! Good to meet you, man!"
"Yeah, well, how did we get here? This is wild."
"I don't know... Who's this white guy? Is he in your band? I'm Tupac, by the way."
"Oh yeah... I heard about you up there. My friend Christopher always talks about you. Says he knew you on earth. Said they used to call him Smallz or something down here."
"You know Biggie? Tell that nigga I'm gonna shoot him when I find his fat ass up there!!"
"Fat? That man is one of the skinniest people I know!"
At this point the scientist interrupted the bickering that had started between Hendrix and Shakur.
"Hey dudes, listen up, I've resurrected both of you so that you could kick box each other to determine who's the best artist. I'm gonna have my friends come over to see it to believe it."
In unison, Hendrix and Tupac let out a, "Huh?"
"Yeah. Come on! My friends are coming over at 8!"
Hendrix and Shakur reluctantly agreed to fight off in a kick boxing match. Tupac told Jimi that, while he admired him, it would be payback for his befriending Biggie up there.
At 8 O'Clock that night Jimi and Tupac squared off in the scientist's living room. All of the scientist's friends were there. The scientist thought that his friends would be very proud of his accomplishment, but they just belittled him some more.
"Man, you fuckers are never happy. Alright, let's start the fight."
The fight was over rather quickly. Neither Jimi Hendrix nor Tupac Shakur were trained kick boxers, so the whole event lasted only a minute and a half. Tupac barely pulled off the win, almost knocking out Hendrix. The two got up and shook hands.
After the event the scientist didn't know what to do with his two new buddies. He had no room for them in his house. He gave them both their walking papers. Tupac was pissed.
"That motherfucker put us out on the streets! What a bitch!"
Hendrix and Shakur decided to leave Poland and return to the United States. Upon arrival they both decided to stay in hiding; the news of their comeback would be too much hassle for them. Hendrix was hired at a strip bar in Orange County, California as a Jimi Hendrix impersonator. Tupac sold drugs in Compton to make ends meet. They eventually made their way to San Francisco, and one night at a bar they discussed the future.
"Man, people think I'm a look-a-like. I don't know what that fucking scientist did, but my skin is a little wrinkled and my face is slightly deformed; I don't really look like myself."
Tupac was on to something. The scientist did a half-ass job of bringing them back to life. He had to regenerate their skin since their corpses had rotted away long ago. He did an okay job of reconstructing them, but it was easy to see why people mistook them for look-alikes.
Tupac continued to discuss what he wanted to do now that he was back on earth.
"I'm gonna avenge my death. I don't give a fuck, what are they gonna do, kill me? I'm going after them, Jimi. I'm gonna get Puffy's faggot ass, I'm gonna lynch Lil' Kim, I'm gonna beat Mobb Deep 'til they sleep!"
"Man... That ain't the way to go about things... You gotta be cool."
"Jimi, man, they fucked me. Puffy shot me!"
"That ain't right man. I can't get behind that. I can't be around for that."
"Well, Jimi, that's a damn shame."
As the two resurrected legends were walking around town the next day, Jimi continued to try and talk Tupac out of his vengeful ways. The two found themselves walking down a back alley, Tupac suddenly hit him in the back of the head with a baseball bat he found. As Jimi went down, Tupac repeatedly beat him until he was dead. Again. There laid Jimi Hendrix in a pool of his own blood; dead for a second time, this time thanks to Tupac Shakur. Had Tupac lost it? In a sense, yes. He thought Jimi would try to stop his plan to avenge his death. With Jimi gone Tupac was free to go about his mission without worry.
The next day Tupac continued with his mission, he first flew to New York to kill Mobb Deep, Jay-Z, and several other corny sounding motherfuckers. The first thing Tupac did when he arrived in New York was stomp into the office of Def Jam president Jay-Z. Jay was shocked when he saw Tupac before him.
"We got beef? Nigga, I didn't even know you."
Jay seemed to not be phased by the fact that Tupac had come back to life and was more concerned about his standing with the famous rapper.
"Yeah, we got beef. You were friends with that fat bastard!"
"Where did we go wrong!"
"All your kids won't grow, bitch. I'm here to kill you."
With no weapons Tupac had to resort to trying to kill Jay-Z with his bare hands. When Jay stabbed him in the neck with a pencil, Tupac just turned and let the blood spray straight into Jay-Z's eyes. As Jay-Z was struggling to clear his eyes, Tupac grabbed a bottle of Armadale Vodka (the vodka company that Jay-Z bought back in the day) and a lighter off of Jay's desk. He then poured the Vodka on Jay-Z and lit him on fire. He then threw him through a window where he plunged to his death.
The headlines were massive around the world the next day: RAPPER FOUND SLAIN: POPULAR RAPPER AND RECORD COMPANY EXECUTIVE JAY-Z FOUND BURNED ON NEW YORK SIDEWALK.
Some people speculated that Jay had committed suicide but most suspected foul play. A day later there was a story in the newspaper about someone looking suspiciously like Tupac making his way around town. Tupac was on his way to Queens to meet up with rap group Mobb Deep when 50 Cent ran into him.
"Aw shit, nigga. The headlines are true. What up?"
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm 50 Cent, nigga. I took your throne! I've got beef with all them niggas you mentioned, except Mobb Deep, I signed them to a record deal!"
"Took my throne? Nigga please!"
"I even got beef with Nas, nigga. So you know what that means? You can't be here. I'm not giving the throne back. See this gun? Your days are numbered! Again."
Tupac bravely jumped 50 and wrestled him to the ground. He took the gun from him and shot him in the stomach. He then beat him in the face with the gun. He beat him so hard that the gun was covered in shedded skin and you could see right through to the bones. There was not much left of 50's face when the police arrived to find his body in a dumpster.
This was massive news the following morning. Another rapper killed; reporters were having a field day. Who was the mysterious man that was killing all these east coast rappers? By the end of the day four new mix tapes came out with diss songs towards the west coast. It was suspected that they were behind this new round of killings. Less than three hours after the first mix tape came out of the east coast, a mix tape came out of the west coast with response songs towards the east.
Within weeks the east coast/west coast rap feud was back in full swing. Several copycat killings had taken the lives of Xzibit, DMX, and even Ja Rule (which people were happy about). Fat Joe was threatening to "find Dr. Dre and make the west coast pay forever!" Ice Cube even went into hiding to avoid death. Rumors of Tupac's return were still rampant in the streets, but nobody ever spotted him.
Tupac had found an abandoned house on Staten Island to live in. He was in good spirits knowing that he had gotten back at some of his enemies. He hadn't heard much about the copycat killings or the east coast/west coast war he restarted, but he didn't care. He was trying to figure out a way to come back out to the public without being fingered for the murders he committed. He was busy writing new rhymes for his next album when he was finally confronted.
"Tupac! This ends now!!"
He looked through a broken out window of the abandoned house he was living in to find the scientist that had brought him back to life. The scientist had seen the news stories on the killings and decided to re-kill the monster he created.
"Listen you little fucker. You brought me back. If you think this is gonna end like a horror movie where the creator has to kill the creation, you're fucking wrong. See this gun?"
The scientist pulled out two samurai swords. He threw one over to Tupac and said, "We're gonna end this like men!"
"Are you fucking crazy? Don't you see this gun?"
As he walked out of the house towards the scientist, he pointed the gun directly at him. The scientist threw his sword at Tupac knocking the gun out of his hand and almost completely severing his hand from his body.
"AHHH!!! HOW THE FUCK DID YOU LEARN TO DO THAT SHIT?!"
"I'm trained well in sword fighting, what about you?"
"Naw... Not really"
"Well you have no choice. Pick up one of those swords. We are going to duel."
Tupac reluctantly picked up the sword. The scientist recovered his sword and the fight was on. Tupac took the first swing and tried to slice the scientist across the neck. He missed badly and the scientist showed off his expert skill by successfully chopping off one of Tupac's arms. Tupac screamed in pain but continued to fight. He stumbled over and successfully stabbed the scientist in the thigh.
The scientist brushed off the jab, "Ha! Flesh wound. Now you get it!"
At this point the scientist was having fun showing off his advanced skill in the middle of the 'hood and cut off one of Tupac's legs. As Tupac hit the ground he cracked his head open on the sidewalk. He laid bleeding with one arm and one leg missing. The scientist stood over him, blocking Tupac's view of the sky above from which he came. The scientist asked one question:
"Ready to go back?"
He then sliced Tupac's head clean off.
The next day the newspapers told the incredible story of how the east coast/west coast rap feud brought Tupac back to life only to be killed again. Rappers everywhere were shocked. Suddenly the Black Eyed Peas weren't so corny anymore and gangsta rap slowly lost its popularity. Rapping about chicken wings, rims, and cocaine was no longer chic and Justin Timberlake was in high demand as a collaborator. In some ways, it may have been better if the scientist let Tupac live again for just a little bit longer.
I don't care what anybody says, the Black Eyed Peas and Justin Timberlake are scary. Hope you liked the story. Happy Halloween!
Are y'all ready? I know I'm ready! It's time for Stossel to go to work! Today he is going to work on Todd Stroger, the prince that will soon become king of Cook County. As you all probably know, Todd Stroger is the son of corpse-like former Cook County Board President John Stroger. He snuck his way onto the ballot after his dad concealed the severity of a stroke until after the primary elections were over.
Stossel smelled bullshit. He even called me and said, "Hey! I smell bullshit."
There wasn't much I could say to that, so I told him to go to work. So he did:
Cook County, Illinois. It is the county that houses Chicago and most of its nearby suburbs. It is nationally known that political corruption is very prominent in Chicago politics. City employees are now on a first name basis with federal agents after they have conducted multiple raids on City Hall over the past few years. Now the Feds are moving up the latter and targeting county and state level government as well.
Rod Blagojevich's reelection campaign is in jeopardy because of a $1500 check. But that's not half as interesting of a story as the race for Cook County Board President. It all started last March when what seemed to be a normal primary election went haywire. John Stroger suffered a stroke just one week before the Democratic primary. He was chosen as the Democratic candidate, but was never officially seen in public again. A resignation letter turned up June 30th and his son, Todd, was chosen to replace him on the ballot.
Some people throughout the county were suspicious of this move; most believe the elder Stroger was in no shape to run the county and should have resigned before the primary, giving other Democratic hopefuls a fair chance.
[STANDING OUTSIDE OF THE COUNTY BUILDING]
I visit Cook County a lot as a freelance reporter for the Elimination Dept. Plus I'm originally from Chicago Heights, so I take special interest in County politics. I decided to start right here at the county building. Inside I spoke with interim president, Bobbie L. Steele.
Stossel: What is your opinion of the fishy Todd Stroger campaign?
Bobbie Steele: I don't see what the big deal is. He was chosen by the party to replace his son on the ballot.
Stossel: But the democratic voters didn't have a say.
Bobbie Steele: They overwhelmingly voted for the Stroger name in March.
Stossel: "Stroger" isn't a brand. They voted for a different Stroger. And it was a close margin.
Bobbie Steele: The bottom line is they voted for a guy on his deathbed over healthy human beings. That should tell you what voters thought of the other candidates.
Her candidness in that statement was surprising. It was obvious that she wouldn't make for a good county president with that kind of honesty; luckily she's just the interim president.
Stossel: There's another scandal brewing around John Stroger's "Patronage Chief"—aren't you guys trying to change your corrupt image. Patronage Chief? You mind as well call him the guy who gets campaign contributors jobs—he's a guy named Gerald Nichols. You admitted that you don't know what his job is, exactly.
Bobbi Steele: No, I don't know what he does. He probably won't be returning to his post.
Stossel: He's been suspended because of a pending investigation, is that correct?
Bobbi Steele: Yes.
Stossel: So, what have you been responsible for doing as interim president of the Cook County Board?
Bobbi Steele: Um. Well, we got new towel holders in the women's bathroom.
Stossel:[laughs] Yes, but what important tasks do you have as county president?
Bobbi Steele: Um... Can we take a break for a moment?
We took a break to allow Ms. Steele time to visit "the little girl's room." She never returned to finish the interview. Apparently she doesn't even know what the county board actually does.
Next we decided to track down this Gerald Nichols character that has become big news in county politics recently. We decided to do some hidden camera surveillance of his home. What we saw was amazing. Just shortly after his press conference where he stated that Gerald Nichols will not work for the county under his watch, Todd Stroger showed up at Nichol's house. They spent a good part of the evening together in Nichols' home. Pretty suspicious behavior for two people who are supposedly severing ties with each other.
[STOSSEL IN FRONT OF COUNTY BUILDING AGAIN]
We returned to the county building to talk to a whistleblower that contacted us. He said he was once a county employee.
Stossel: So, when you worked in there [pointing to County building], what exactly did you do?
Anonymous Whistleblower: I was paid $50,000 a year to buy John Stroger toilet paper and I also had to make sure it was correctly put on the toilet paper holder, with the toilet paper rolling from the front.
Stossel: And you did nothing else?
Anonymous Whistleblower: That's it. That's all my official duties called for. I would sometimes clean the toilet if I was feeling generous.
Stossel: I'm sure taxpayers will be glad to hear that. Did you have to wipe his ass too?
Anonymous Whistleblower: Nope. He had someone else he paid to do that for him. It was a pretty sweet union gig. I think it was in the low six figures. I was hoping to one day get promoted to ass-wiper.
Stossel: My God this county is fucked up.
The Whistleblower also turned me on to something even more outrageous than a $50,000 a year toilet paper provider. There was someone practicing medicine at the John H. Stroger, Jr. Cook County Hospital that wasn't even a doctor!
Stossel: You mean to tell me that someone was hooked up with a job as a resident physician at the Stroger hospital?!?
Anonymous Whistleblower: Yep... His name's Huko Double Prime. He's a resident gynecologist.
Huko Double Prime. A name that I thought wasn't real. A person I thought was made up for the purpose of entertainment on the Elimination Dept. LiveJournal. Hearing this actually made me believe he was real. We decided to stake out the Stroger hospital and try and see if Huko was indeed there. We had a young female intern fake a severe yeast infection to see the resident gynecologist. Much to our dismay, it was indeed Huko. We swarmed in with cameras and spoke with Huko until security escorted us out of the building.
Huko: Hey! Stossel! STOSSEL! STOSSEL!!
Stossel: Well, Huko. I didn't know you were a doctor. A fake esquire, pimp, and lawyer maybe, but not a fake medical doctor as well.
Huko: All of my accreditations are 100% real, Stossel!
Stossel: Really? We combed records of all sorts. In no state are you registered as a medical doctor. What are you doing practicing gynecology at the Stroger hospital?
Huko: I don't need to be a doctor to know a lot about pussy.
Stossel: All vulgarity aside, how did you get this job?
Huko: All you need to know is that I'm an expert in the field of pussyology. So all you ladies out there reading this, I'm here overnights three times a week.
Asshole Security Guard: You boys have to leave now.
Our whistleblower told us that Huko was an old friend of Todd Stroger from his high school days and that's how he got the position. Has the Stroger family abused its power so much that not only did they get a hospital named after them, they staffed it with unqualified friends? This may just be the biggest political scandal you can think of. Between this and the bait-and-switch tactic between John Stroger and his son, Todd, I'd say Cook County is still living up to its reputation as a bought and paid for county.
And lastly, as we followed Huko after his shift ended, you'll never guess where he went: To Todd Stroger's house. He arrived around the same time that Gerald Nichols and Stroger's opponent, Tony Peraica did.
This should prove to be a very interesting election season, indeed.
Holy fuckin' shit! Huko knows a lot of motherfucking people... I've been noticing a pattern here with Huko. He always knows the right people. Very strange. And how the fuck did Huko know Todd Stroger in high school? Didn't he grow up in Japan? What the hell is it with this guy? Fuckin' Huko...
Well, I'm not surprised that Huko is a practicing gynecologist, albeit unaccredited, but I am surprised at the level of contempt for established law that these Stroger boys exhibit. Man, I guess it will always be "business as usual" in Chicago.
Now that I've dropped out of the mayoral race in Harvey, it is time to get manzoku ready for his run for mayor. We already have a struggle on our hands; we've been dragging our feet getting his candidacy announced. We read a poll in the paper that says Daley is pretty much gonna win in a landslide. We had to change all those opinions in time for the next poll. People listen to those stupid fucking polls and it actually persuades people to vote for certain candidates. YOU FUCKING SHEEP!!
We had another hurdle as well: Most Elimination Dept. Associates live in suburban Cook County and won't even be able to vote for manzoku. In fact, manzoku is a part of this problem! So we began working on the actual campaign and getting manzoku to register his city address.
I had a website in mind that would promote how manzoku would fix the problems of Chicago. The website we wanted was www.whatswrongwithchicago.com. Unfortunately someone already beat us to the punch with that site. It was some zany new morning show on Q101. The website had a photo gallery of funny pics which were mostly the kind of Photoshop chop-jobs that your grandparents e-mail to you because the novelty of Photoshop image manipulation still amuses them. Me, personally, my ears are filled with Trey the Choklit Jok on Power 92 in the morning. The Old School Jumpoff at 7:30 is great. Hearing New Edition during the morning commute is wonderful!
The website was a bummer; it would have been great to put a billboard up along the Kennedy (I'm not gonna even bother Photoshopping what that would look like; go to www.whatswrongwithchicago.com to see that kind of hilarity), but we had to move on. We did what we do best: hit the streets. Like Trey The Choklit Jok, we are number one in dem streets. We first hit Jefferson Park since it is the closest neighborhood to Headquarters, because that's where Headquarters is these days. We knocked on quite a few doors. There were a lot of senior citizens. A lot of them remembered the first Mayor Daley fondly. One old lady living on Austin told us a tale about the first Daley.
"He would have one of his guys stop by all the time to shovel my sidewalk. He was very nice to us. Me and my husband, we helped him out of a jam during his first few years as Mayor. My husband took a fall in a political scandal for the Mayor. For the rest of our years we were set. My husband, bless his soul, was in jail for six months; it seemed like six years. When he got out we were showered with gifts and goodwill from the Mayor. Bless his heart."
This old lady's tale of corruption and payoffs made manzoku so mad that you could see steam blowing off of his head in the cold Chicago wind. He was calm, he was cool-headed, and he graciously asked for her vote and walked away.
"Well, we'll be looking for you to vote for me next year. We're looking to introduce a new kind of politician to Chicago. Me."
"Oh, well that's nice dear. I really appreciate that you will mow my lawn for my vote."
"I never said that."
"Oh, but Daley's son [Richard M., our current mayor] is so nice, he still shovels the walk."
"See ya later, lady."
manzoku did get in good with the Polish vote in the area. He explained his no-nonsense style of politics, and since most of them aren't juiced in very well with the Daley Administration, they didn't have patronage jobs at stake. We then decided to get ballsy and see if we could win the votes of some city workers. We drove up on a construction site along Milwaukee Avenue right near headquarters. To our surprise, ryantscotts was a part of the construction crew. He was wiring up a new traffic signal.
"Holy Crap! You took my advice and got that patronage job!" I remarked.
"Yep. Now I work even less than I did as part of the Union."
manzoku told him, "I'm looking to win some votes over from your co-workers. Where are they?"
"They went to a strip club; I think the Admiral."
"AREN'T THEY SUPPOSED TO BE WORKING?!?!?!?!?!?"
"Yeah. What of it, Knuckles?"
manzoku turned to me and said, "I've gotta put a stop to this!"
I told him, "Yeah? Good luck. Stick to reforming the people in City Hall. You're not gonna get any votes going after juiced-in construction workers."
"Fine... But one day I will put a stop to this!"
"And that's the day I go back to the Union," quipped ryantscotts.
When we got back to Headquarters we flipped on the TV to see Jesse Jackson Jr. talking about manzoku!
"He is a racist ideologue. He's a part of a vulgar, renegade organization that takes pleasure from the misery of others and even prides themselves on inflicting misery towards others! I don't think I know anybody who would vote for him!"
Whoa, Buddy! Who does he think manzoku is? Judy Baar Topinka!?!? I will not have manzoku shunned like that! Although the part about the schadenfreude and fucking with people is pretty much true. We decided to confront Jesse Jackson Jr. at another press conference he held the next day.
We just barged right up on stage as Chuck Goudie from Channel 7 was going to hit Jesse Jr. with a hard-hitting question. I spoke first.
"I am the campaign manager for manzoku! A new kind of candidate that you, the people of Chicago, have been waiting for! This man, Jesse Jr., is a bigot, a racist, and an out-and-out liar! He is lying to you about my candidate! manzoku, tell them!"
"Well, he's full of shit on the racist part, go ahead, Chuck Goudie, ask me some questions about race and about Jesse Jackson Jr."
Just then Jesse's Nation Of Islam security guards happily escorted us out at gunpoint. How is it those guys can get away with being so mean to white people? Dammit! Well, next we hit the media head-on. No crashing Jesse Jr. press conferences, we go straight for the gold and try to arrange our own press conferences!
And if this whole mayoral run doesn't work out, I think manzoku has a good shot at landing the morning show gig at Q101. I made sure to put enough inside jokes about Chicago into this entry to cream the shorts of Q101 honcho Marv Nyren who demands local flavor in his morning shows!
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eliminator's journal
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