Further West

Otto sat in his car, the streetlight red, swinging from a wire suspended over an intersection, its very presence suggesting its impermanence. Otto gazed out onto the landscape below, two lines of cars crept toward the setting sun, their polished shells shone an oblivious white. How contrived the whole thing seemed; the fountains in front of grocery stores; the cylindrical perfection of the corporate headquarters to the largest cheese producer in the country; and above it all rose a golf course draped over a landfill.
The light turned green. Otto did not move. He didn’t see the need, the cars ahead of him were still jutting into the intersection. The radio blared an ad for a revolutionary spot remover, he checked the mirror to see how the driver (person would be too personal) behind him was dealing with Otto’s inaction. The driver appeared calm, a practiced smile streaked across her face, she too checked her mirror, at what it is uncertain. Kids? Vanity? Drivers? Otto returned his gaze out the front window, the light turned yellow and he waited.

West On Willow

We were in an exurb out west where everything was massive. The Potbelly’s had a spire and a bell tower. The Harley-Davidson dealership stretched across a city block; it looked like a well-maintained storage facility. Not a single pedestrian could be glimpsed. The crosswalks were a football field across to the other side, the left turn signals arbitrary and vaguely malicious. Fleets of blacked-out SUVS sped past, suburban moms cloistered in like visiting foreign dignitaries.

 There were small wooden sticks sprouting up in a pebbly open field, markers for a new development. There was an empty office building just past the slumping fencing of the open field; a designated green space for a championship golf course to be called The Hidden Links. The whole dreary expanse was a facsimile of a vibrant commercial center. It probably looked vital in its blueprints, the scale more forgiving.

 The movie complex (to use the word theatres would have been absurd) resembled a mega-church. Cairns marked its entrance. Undoubtedly its inhabitants followed a charismatic strain of Christianity. The men grew goatees. Sixteen of the screens were showing romantic comedies, the other six action movies adapted from comic books.

 America was hurting. 

Is Barack Obama A Secret Muslim? You Betcha

The story of Barack Hussein Obama’s rapid political ascension to be the Democratic Party’s 2008 presidential nominee is truly amazing, all the more so being that the junior senator from Illinois is a secret Muslim. Let us examine this Manchurian candidate’s background and try to glean how an Obama presidency would help transform North America into part of an Islamic caliphate that would extend west to Asia; and lead to a marked upturn in choreographed dance routines and the proliferation of Swedish disco.

Barack Hussein Obama was born on the outskirts of the teeming Pakistani port city of Karachi to a fishmonger father and a mother who was once called the most beautiful dwarf in all of Karachi’s eastern-most slums. His first introduction to the West came from the Swedish pop-group ABBA’s 1977 hit, “Dancing Queen.” In the Hussein family's two-room shack, under the scorching corrugated steel roof, Obama recited the lyrics incessantly, telling Jim Leher in a 2004 interview that he “thought that without ABBA, [he] would never have learned the English language, and never have written [his] two memoirs.” Although the local madrassa Obama attended was tolerant of some Swedish pop-music, the lasciviousness of ABBA ultimately got Obama expelled.

Throughout his childhood, Obama was an expert cricket player, especially excelling as an unusually skilled wicket-keeper, owing in large part to his bird-like frame and twitchy reflexes. Upon expulsion from school, Obama emigrated to neighboring India with only two business suits and an eyeball--an Obama family heirloom given to him by his father--to try his hand at professional cricket. To make ends meet Obama took extra work in countless Bollywood movie productions. His graceful carriage and lithe movements caught the eye of a then lowly Illinois attorney known to his constituents as Dickey Durbin. Dickey Durbin was a fanatic Bollywood fan, making several trips a year to Mumbai, often taking back a lucky young male extra who caught his eye to clerk in his downstate Illinois law firm.

After years of clerking for Dickey during the day and running his Springfield-based Bollywood-influenced dance studio at night, Obama eventually ran for the Illinois State Senate and won in a remarkable upset, all the more improbable since Hussein had never become a US citizen. His Senate victory made Obama only the fifteenth former Bollywood dancer ever to be elected to the Illinois Senate. From there, I guess the rest of Obama’s story is already part of modern political lore.

As his background makes clear, Obama's kind of change is not the kind this country wants or needs.

Great Opportunity In Fast-Growing Industry

Do you love making easy money???

Do you love Internet solicitations???

Do you love vagueness???

How about question marks???

Well then this might be just the job for you. WorkCorps is seeking a recent college graduate with a background in heraldry and civil engineering. Applicant must have a strong nose for detail, a nose ring, outstanding business acumen, and a booming baritone. Must be well read in Homer and Eric Jung.

Also, at least eight years (or months) of experience in microwave repair is preferred. Must be fluent in Czech or Kiswahili, but not both; limited English a plus.

Please send your resume to whoever you want. Those seeking to click their mouse further, by all means, click away.

If you have a bachelor of arts, crawl into a hole and hold your breath. This is an entry-level position in an office in a glittering skyscraper in a city of your choosing. Position is only eligible to college sophomores with great hair (red) and a voluminous DVD collection including but not limited to the following titles: "Gladiator," "Legally Blonde," and "Remember The Titans."

Summer Outlook From Inoffensive Mike

Sup yall,

So I'm thinking about running the marathon. I signed up for these e-mail alerts and I'm seriously considering upgrading my running appurtenances: new shoes, short-shorts, billowy skinny tank-top, displaced MC Hammer floppy hat, maybe some sleek wrap-arounds. I could train with my golden retriever, which I'm in the market for, along with an i-pod mini.

You guys heard of this hummus? I've only recently gotten into it and now that I have I don't know what took me so long. Apparently it's made from Chick peas. Cool. It's a great alternative to salsa or spreaded cheese. It's origin is Middle Eastern, but not like Islamic Middle Eastern; more like Arabian Nights and sultry belly dancers Middle Eastern.

I haven't heard it all the way through yet but the new Coldplay album sounds really solid. The title, La Viva la Vida or Death And All His Friends, is a little out there but that song from the i-pod commercial is a rocker. Steve Lillywhite produced it, he of U2's Boy, October, and War. Unfortunately, just like U2, I read a review that LVLVDAAHS (acronym) is heavily political, leftist even. Let's leave the politics to the politicians, boys. I know: you millionaire rock musicians hate free markets, the inequitable distribution of wealth, contaminated third world water, childhood polio, etc.. Well, the free market kindly requests back your villas in France and Prius' and expensive cheeses.

Now that it's officially summer--finally!!! Doesn't it seem like winter lasts about a year? (lol)--beer-garden season is upon us. There are some great alcoholic seasonal offerings come this time of the year. Two of the best in my opinion are Samuel Adams' Summer Ale, which has a great lemon zest and a peppery African spice; and Chicago's own Goose Island '312' Wheat Ale, ideal for porch parties and Big Ten reunions. I once heard Chicago in the summer referred to as "God's country" (thanks for that one, Brian) and I couldn't agree more. This weekend me and the boys are going to a Polish literature block party in Edison Part. It's supposed to be a raucous time. I hope to see some of you guys there. I heard there will be a symposium on the works of one of my favorite polish writers, the inimitable Janusz A. Zajdel. I hope I'm still lucid by that time (haha).

Next post will be on some of my different methods for stifling tears.

Carpe diem,

Mike

Instructions to Commence The Party

1. Before setting off for the dance club, relax in your well-furnished apartment complete with barker lounger and erotically placed ceiling mirror. Imbibe anywhere from eight to nine strongly mixed drinks of a citrus liquor and mentally choreograph the night's dance moves.

2. Upon entering the dance club, move your hand up and down in synchronization with the melody of the trance music. This could be a challenge as trance music has no discernible melody. Allow your hand to breathe. Remember to give your wrist free and open movement during the vertical gesticulations that will inevitably accompany your in-the-know posturing.

3. At this point retreat to a dark corner of the dance club. Come down from the high of being in such a celebratory environment. Stare intently at fellow dancers. Do not, I repeat, do not avert your gaze until fellow dancers acknowledge your acknowledgement of the solidarity of the dance club. You will now be in proper community with fellow dancers.

4. Find a partner once contemporary urban music sounds from the club's public address system. Place your genitalia against your partner's buttocks/small of back. Gyrate said genitalia against said buttocks/small of back as urban music dictates.

5. At this point, everybody in the dance club will be on the precipice of intoxication. This is a positive development according to J-Kwon. Exclaim in your most adamant, shrill voice that you are the owner of the space where the dance is being consummated. This will impress the female demographic while gaining the communal respect of the male populace.

6. Do everything in your power to restrain yourself from getting sexually aroused during this intimate dance. Do not resort to duct tape. Although it is a very masculine tape, own up to your arousal. However, if this does happen to occur, simply tell your partner that you have come to profoundly appreciate the way his/her parts connect and your tumescent member is merely a show of gratitude.

If you militantly follow these six steps, you will successfully commence the party. Congratulations! Parties are fun and prosperous. May all readers have many parties in their future.

Everybody Is On Facebook

Muqtada al-Sadr

Interested in: Shariah law

Realtionship Status: In a Relationship

Looking For: Shiite Regional Dominance, Anything I Can Get

Birthday: Rabi-II 5, 1395

Hometown: Najaf, Iraq. Sadr City, what up!

Political Views: Very Conservative

Interests: Self-flagellation, beards, hanging with friends, fueling sectarian violence, cruising, garish posters of myself

Favorite Music: Forbidden because its un-Islamic but I have a soft spot for Sisqo

Favorite T.V. Show: "According to Jim", al-Jazeera

Favorite Movies: "Billy Madison", "Happpy Gilmore", "Big Daddy". Adam Sandler is one hilarious Zionist.

Favorite Books: Koran, "7 Habits of Highly Effective People", "The DaVinci Code"

Favorite Quotes: "Get 'er done!", "Where's the Beef?", "Death to the Great Satan"

Jimmy Jack

Jimmy Jack was a drifter. His only home was the open road, his only bed the well-trodden path, his only toothbrush his urine soaked fingers. That last part wasn't metaphorical. Jimmy Jack frequently pissed himself. He had one of those archetypcal vague pasts: an Army brat, in and out of countless schools, a brief stint in the Merchant Marines, host of "Family Feud" for a few forgettable seasons. He's loved and lost, been married, separated, divorced, legally restrained, and finally, repeatedly soiled himself. It's a bit of a motiff. Jimmy Jack's been through Florida, Washington State, Kansas, never Peoria but it's on his list. What? You didn't think Jimmy Jack kept lists. He has numerous in fact. They include but are not limited to "Places I Want To Be Arrested For Vagrancy In", "Dan Brown Books I Want To Read", and "Women With Specific Names I Must Sleep With Before I Die" which include "Darlene", "Sandy", and "Crystal".
Jimmy Jack rarely complained, he takes what life gives him and life has given him a shrunken head, a fin as his sole appendage, and a natural body odor oddly reminiscent of overcooked venison. Jimmy Jack's been a guest on "Antiques Roadshow". He was dissapointed to find out that his staple gun dating back to the existence of Pangea was appraised for only $3.75. The appraiser described it as your average staple gun bought at any comtemporary office supplies store, roughly dating back to 2004. It was an investment Jimmy Jack regretted in hindsight. Jimmy Jack was a loveable throwback to a dirtier, meaner, more sexist time. I'm sad to see Jimmy Jack go. Sometimes God takes the great ones too early. However, that was definitely not the case with Jimmy Jack, for he was a mediocre person prone to bouts of incoherent harrangues against the Canadian government, the female sex, and inanimate lightpoles. The fact that Jimmy Jack now rests in an oversized pizza box, by request, mind you, is testament to, well, his love for pizza and that's about it. I don't think there's anything symbolic about it. The man just loved pizza.