Bye for Now

I'm back at the public library to return my Ancient Aliens video. I pulled some comedy material out of it, but I enjoyed the series. I hope I can find another one that good today. Yesterday, I started something on my home computer that's going to take a few weeks to finish, so I'll be away from my Blogger account for a while. Don't worry about it. I'll be back with plenty more to say before you know it. Until then.
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Missing Scriptures

Good evening and welcome to Missing Scriptures, where we cast the shocking light of modern technology on ancient biblical mysteries in a balanced, objective search for the truth. I'm Duncan Foyle. Many Christians don't know that large portions of the original Bible were censored by authorities during the fourth century Council of Nicea. When we restore these missing passages and examine the whole work in a modern light, we receive an exciting new awareness of our past. Today, anyone with a basic understanding of modern genetics may see evidence of genetic engineering in the missing books of Genesis. In the Book of Eunuch, for instance, Eunuch's wife becomes mysteriously pregnant. The father can't be located. This points directly to artificial insemination. In the Book of Lilith, the original design for women was in the form of a wild, rampaging seductress. God had to do away with her and start over again from Adam's DNA with Eve. And was Jonah really swallowed by a whale? Even respected naval officers concede to the uncanny resemblance of their submarines in comparison with certain enormous forms of marine life. What better way for Jonah's captors to shield their experiments than under the cloak of the sea? But perhaps the most startling revelations come from restoring the New Testament to its original size. The New Testament didn't start out as slim as it is today. It used to have a lot more gospels. And they all conflicted with each other, with each author swearing their version was the gospel truth. A modern ufologist could explain that easily: Christ was pan-dimensional. But nothing apparently exists to fill in the twenty year gap between Christ's youth and his emergence from the desert to begin his ministry. Perhaps he was a time traveler, as well. Personally, I think he had a close encounter in that desert. Could explain how he survived all that time with no food. Anyway, that's all for Missing Scriptures this week. I'm sure more will turn up soon. I'm Duncan Foyle. Thank you for joining us.
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Lady's Choice

Host: Welcome to the wild new show for singles: Lady's Choice. We're here with Lucy Fillings who will be propositioned by three callers, each of whom will try to win her over from a well-to-do mystery man. Lucy has already agreed to the mystery man's proposition, but she will be allowed to change her mind for one of her callers. Lucy, are you ready to meet them? Fillings: I think so. Host: Good. Are you ready, gentlemen? Let's start with Franklin Dorsal, an outdoorsman from Ontario. Franklin, what do you think Lucy wants? Dorsal: I think maybe she wants to go canoeing. Host: (sarcastically) How novel. Fillings: Canoeing? You mean like rowing? That sounds like work. Dorsal: But it's great exercise. And you gives you lots of clean air. Fillings: I don't want any of that. Who's next? Host: Doctor W. Allan Bradley is a cardiologist with a highly lucrative practice in Daytona Beach. Go ahead, Doctor Bradley. Bradley: Lucy, I don't know quite how to put this, but as soon as I laid eyes on you for the first time, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. And that's why (getting down on one knee and opening a small jewellery case) I'd like to offer you this ring and ask for your hand in wedlock. Lucy Fillings, will you marry me? Fillings: (crying) That was so sweet. I always knew I'd marry a doctor. (They embrace and the audience cheers.) Host: So that's it, then? What about your third caller? Fillings: Send him home. Host: Very well, your third caller was a rich and powerful producer who wanted his next date to star in his next feature film. But you know best. I'll send him back to his private jet. Fillings: No, wait! Host: No, you've already rejected the mystery man for Doctor Bradley. Now you have a good man there and he wants to marry you. You should be happy. Fillings: But I didn't know! Bradley: Lucy, don't you love me? Fillings: Oh, stuff it.
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Rhubarb Mountain

Announcer: Tonight on Rhubarb Mountain, Ma Rhube's faith is shaken by the heretical idealism of her scholarly son. (A 1930's kitchen. While snacking on a leafy stick of rhubarb, Ron Junior helps Ma Rhube with a chore.) Ron Jr: I'm telling you, ma, that's what it's going to be like. We won't have families anymore because we'll all be hatched in government nurseries. Ma Rhube: No families? Land sakes, what'll become of the church? Ron Jr: Instead of believing in Christ, we'll worship Henry Ford, the inventor the assembly line. Ma Rhube: I don't like you reading books that contradict the Bible, young man. And take that thing out of your mouth! Ron Jr: Aw, ma, why can't you be more like pa? He's atheist. Ma Rhube: He is not. He just prefers to keep his Sunday prayers to himself down at the bingo hall. Announcer: How does a God fearing mother protect her child from eternal damnation? (A parlour. Ma Rhube knits a sweater on the rocker. Enter Pa Rhube.) Pa Rhube: We got a letter from Ron Junior in New York. Ma Rhube: God be praised! Read it out loud. Pa Rhube: All right. (He puts on his glasses and opens the letter.) Dear Ma and Pa. I am well and I hope you are not worried. You don't need to go out looking for friends here because they come right on up, knocking on your door and introducing themselves. That's how I met Eunice and Claire. They're really nice people. You'd like them. And they know so much about the Bible, like how Jesus was an alien hermaphrodite and his virgin birth was accomplished through artificial insemination. I want to be in good standing with the holy aliens so I've joined their church. I'll be leaving soon for missionary work in Guyana, but I'll send you a post card if they let me. Love, Ron Junior. (End of letter.) I see. Well, I guess he's old enough to make his own decisions. (Looking up) Ellie! Ma Rhube: (still knitting, unaware her hair has fallen out) What is it, Ron? Announcer: Don't miss Ellie's new look as secularism descends on Rhubarb Mountain tonight.
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Smash Network Evil

I think it's time to talk about network evil again, before it ruins another year for me. First, let me remind you all why I posted those poetic lampoons of stars and shows: Sappho Asparagus (Ellen), Jackie the Pro (Jay Leno), the Porcupine Girls (Dateline), Shorty Suffuse (George Carlin), the Cinnamon Gang (Saturday Night Live), Slick Singer (Mick Jagger), etc, etc, in 2007. This was out of concern for innocent fans. I wanted to break the bad news about their idols in the nicest way possible, so I used my talent to give it some charm. However, when I compared Jay Leno to a gangster, I was serious. I'm his victim. I was also serious when I compared Ellen to asparagus and the corrupt post-2000 cast of Saturday Night Live to donuts. I was serious when I compared the hosts of Dateline to witches. What happened to my message after they stole all these works? Wasn't that unspeakably evil for the networks to let my detractors pose as the authors of my parodies? When people are tricked into believing that a parody was authored by its target, it loses all meaning. It destroys the parody and all that is left over is perhaps a mediocre laugh from the author's peculiar language. These TV stars should write their own parodies instead of destroying mine, especially when I'm using them to inform my readers about who they can trust on TV. Can't they write their own parodies? That's what they're paid for, isn't it? I sure as hell don't get any money for it. Why can't they at least steal from someone a little more financially secure? So I don't think it's an improvement to pass the subjects of the parody off as its authors. On the contrary, I think it's the most destructive plagiarism that can possibly be committed by trusted public figures.
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The Observatory

Heads up, everyone! Prepare to receive a transmission from (hall echo:) the Observatory. Did you like the echo? That's the sound of this vast, hollow dome. Natural reverb. We have to mask it out most of the time. Do you believe in extraterrestrial visitors? The government can't hide them from us forever. And if all those abductees got together, they could get a representative elected to congress and before long they'll be introducing ancient alien theory into public classrooms. And if you still reject UFO's after that, you'll be declared obsolete and no employer will hire you. So think ahead and keep an open mind about ET's before you wind up on the street. The best way to prepare for an extraterrestrial encounter is to take it in steps. Start by shaking hands with a LINIX user. From there, maybe you can say hi to someone from Madagascar, and so forth, until you're ready for ET's. Teach yourself to smile and to show no fear when you greet strangers. As long as you're nice, the aliens will see that everything is put back where they found it when they finish with you. Aliens advanced enough to cross interstellar space would have evolved well beyond any primal drive for material conquest. Whatever we've got, I'm sure they're willing to share it with us. It's not like when technologically advanced Europeans landed in America. They only knew how to cross the ocean. Still, watch out for the skinny ones in black robes - especially whose appearance is accompanied by the onset of a choking pink fog. If you see one of them, pray he didn't see you. For some of you, mind altering drugs may be necessary to convert your brain to the new reality. You may access this powerful medicine through a qualified shaman. Family physicians reserve it strictly for cancer patients. It won't be necessary to abandon your religion, as long as your God is the master of the whole universe. However, you may need to think bigger when it comes to loving your neighbour. That's all I can think of for now, but we'll have more far out findings for you next week on the Observatory. Transmission complete.
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Slander!

The commercial counts as an independent sub-script. I got the idea for this show by thinking about Saturday Night Live's slanderous Davelies sketch, but it could also have been sparked by their earlier violations of my image and copyright and shared in 2007. Slinger: Hey all you decadent slobs out there, get ready for another smutty round of utterly vicious character assassinations here on Slander! - where the names don't just hurt you, they flatten you with the force of a steamroller. I'm your new host, Mark Slinger. We have a high turnover in hosts here. Anyway, we're going to kick things off with Debra, who says she is having some trouble with her landlord. What's wrong, Debra? Debra: He won't wait for me to pay my rent at the end of every month. Slinger: The monster. And you won't agree to sleep with him, right? After he forced himself on you... Debra: No, he's a perfect gentleman. I didn't appreciate your backstage groping, though. Do you do that to your staff too? Slinger: What? I didn't lay a hand on you! Debra: I'm sure your camera recorded the whole thing. Slinger: She's lying! Get her out of here! (Debra is ushered off the stage.) Man, how do they find such horrible people for this show? Have they no concern for right and wrong? Folks, forget about that woman. She's obviously criminally insane, so we'll just move on to our next contestant, Earnest. Earnest, I hear someone owes you money and won't pay up. Earnest: Yes, I won a bet with my neighbour and I'm still waiting to collect on it. Slinger: The fiend. But that's the kind of behaviour you'd expect from a known felon, right? Earnest: No, he has a spotless record: twenty years as a prison guard. He still remembers when you served time for grand larceny in the nineties, though. Slinger: That's absurd. He must have me confused with someone else. Earnest: Actually, we were watching your show when he saw your face and he told me about it. Slinger: Well, he's wrong, okay? When was this? I just got here. I'm innocent, I tell you, and I won't have my image tarnished just because your deadbeat friend wants to confuse me with someone else. (Heavy sigh.) We'll be right back after this. Advertisement: Syntha-Shanks Artificial Meat Portions Is your vegetarian diet cheating you? Do you find yourself either idly dissolving a soggy cheerio on your tongue or drowning out the TV with the crunch of your salad? Omitting the meat ritual from your schedule can cause you to forget your place at the top of the food chain, making you twice as vulnerable to dog attacks. But you can compensate for it with Syntha-Shanks. Syntha-Shanks consist of a flavourless algae harvested from vats of tepid water. It browns naturally over time and folds neatly into cutlets, providing a fibrous, tissue rupturing bite so authentic, you'll think you're eating a real leg of lamb - as long as its covered in sauce. So stay on top with Syntha-Shanks you-won't-believe-they're-artificial meat portions. (A hot piece is tossed to a dog that sniffs it on the ground and rejects it.) Slinger: We're back with Simon, who works as a hospital orderly in the maximum security wing where they're holding that notorious serial offender. Simon, is it true that he drinks his own urine? Simon: (after squinting for a moment) Marcia! I didn't recognize you at first. Wow, those hormone treatments truly work wonders. Slinger: All right, that's enough. I've had it with all these damn ruinous insinuations! You don't want to win, you just want to topple the host! What kind of a show is this? This is the producers' fault! They appeal to our lowest impulses to boost their profits and they're turning us into a bunch of degenerates! Degenerates, I say! Like them! They want to enslave us! Their greed is insatiable! (Enter a towering crewman.) What is it? Crewman: The producers just told me to tell you you're fired. Slinger: Just like that? Can't I finish the show? Crewman: You must leave the premises at once. Slinger: (storming off) Fine! I'm better off being rejected by such a stupid, destructive show! Simon: (waving) Bye, Marcia. Slinger: Go to Hell! (Loud cheers as Slinger exits, followed by the messenger.) Simon: I guess that's it for Slander! this week, but until next time, we won't forget it was you who burned down the church.
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The Pathogena Hair Defense System

(A grade six class. The teacher responds to a girl's raised hand.) Teacher: Yes, Susan? Susan: Grover's sniffing my hair again. Teacher: Grover, are you sniffing Susan's hair? Grover: (seated behind Susan) No, ma'am. Susan: He's lying! Teacher: Susan, your hair defense is your own responsibility. Announcer: Introducing the Pathogena Hair Defense System. One squirt fortifies your follicles with millions upon millions of the very latest in genetically engineered carnivorous microorganisms. Stays infectious for up to twenty-four hours. Immunization mandatory for all purchasers. (The classroom. The students take turns reading out loud from a book.) Teacher: It's your turn, Grover. Grover: (nose bleeding, clutching his throat) I can't breathe. Teacher: Grover, if you can't keep up with the others, I'm going to have to put you in a remedial class. Announcer: Pay sniffers back with the Pathogena Hair Defense System. Pathogena: nose knows bounds.
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The Worst People in the World

I'm not using the library today, but does anyone who sat near me yesterday recall that noisy man yesterday? Did you hear how he vocalized every silly thought in his head for almost half an hour? That's why I'm not using the library today. They want the library for people like that and I'm tired of complaining about it. Did you ever see that Keith Olberman segment about the worst person in the world? I used to browse that on YouTube. I liked knowing who all the bad guys were and learning about their crimes, but I think there were some glaring omissions from the list. Given the amount of music fraud and comedy fraud I have exposed in the years since, I think the list should have included all those rotten, corrupt stars. Seal should be number one on the list right now, for instance. Instead, I am forced to listen to one of his -uh- mixes from the 1990's. Oh, did he write that hit? I thought maybe it was by the author of Chopsticks. And those are his own words in the background? What a load of gibberish. The singer in the foreground has a great voice, but I need to listen to more than someone singing, I need to hear a song. So, as bad as Seal might be, aren't his supporters in the corporate media even worse than he is? If you have a hard time comprehending the scale of the theft of my songs and blogs, which extends to thousands of my web posts, it's because you find it hard to imagine the arrogance of the media figures who hand you their spin every day and call it the news. They think they invent our reality. If a media person like the bigoted David Frum, for instance, who thinks I'm inferior based on my humble origins, sees me doing something extraordinary, he will twist things around however he must to convince the world that I'm insignificant. The important thing for him is to sustain the illusion of his superiority. That goes for the other CBC staff I've already mentioned. As self proclaimed authors of our reality, they used their influence to deprive me of my talent's due recognition, even in the face of posting multiple hit songs in 2007, and to divert all of my glory to their own little privileged gang. Their arrogance was more important to them than my talent and your enlightenment. And they think it's okay to toy with people's hearts by using my most popular music to deceive my music fans into rejecting a favorite author. As long as you rejected me, they felt secure in their power. They used to reassure themselves that you rejected me by bombarding us with fraud made out of my songs and blogs, but now, apparently, they must make do with playing the earlier successes of the ones who ganged up on me to commit the crime. A lot of the stars in my offenders list have been punished and served time and their victim is alone to report it because the arrogant media wants everyone to think it's no big deal to commit eight-year-long crimes with my work. They are arrogant to the point of criminality and I think that makes the culpable corporate media staff who promoted entertainment fraud as though it were a modern Renaissance and who now stand behind the perpetrators against their victim absolutely the worst people in the world.
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Space Stud

I have a Valentine's Day question for my readers. Would anyone be able to identify a hostile stranger for me? I ran across her shortly after posting that statement in which I cracked a few jokes about groupies. One of them spoke of their navels as launching site for fatally poisonous projectiles. This girl put her thumbs and index fingers around her navel as I approached her on the sidewalk, as if to say: if I had that weapon, I'd use it to kill you. Who is she? I don't know her, don't recognize her face. We've never been introduced. But she obviously knows me and reads my blog. Is she a groupie? Is she one of those disloyal fans that Dick Cheney wanted to use to cause me deep sexual injuries in the middle of the night? Is she one of those groupies that celebrated their fraud concerts by spitting and bleeding all over my picture? If so, I guess she's dissatisfied with how much harm she has already caused me and needs to add to it when she sees me in the hospital. These people that the business helps to gain the respect of the world by supporting their fraud with my work are impossible to satisfy. Look at the Crystalids. There I was in 2010, considering the possibility that my music was about to be robbed and thinking that at least they might be grateful enough with the rewards to leave me in peace. But having money and cars and fans and parties and being able to fuck any woman they wanted wasn't enough for Dick Cheney's Crystalids. They needed to hunt me down in their limousine while I pedaled innocently to my menial job and pick on me. They needed to come to my building and tell the neighbors stories about me. They needed to have sex with any woman I expressed an interest in and make them betray me. Dick Cheney is a very poor judge of character if he thought that those untalented jerks could handle my power. I think they failed to live up to the high standards of my music because anyone who thinks they deserve worship for doing nothing is never going to be satisfied with any reward. But CBC thinks they should all be stars with my hit songs and hilarious blogs. So Happy Valentine's Day. I'm not as alone on this day as I appear. I've been watching a DVD of a History Channel series about ancient aliens. They said that alien supermen found our women attractive. Let me tell you, their women are attracted to our men, as well: the kind of men who have a good sense of humor and who know how to rock. I think they have extremely good taste.
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Stop Trusting Newspapers

I always have problems listening to my new songs after I post them online. The older songs seem less cluttered. It's like there's this gang of people who wait for me to post a new song so they can jump all over it and bash it with every dirty trick in the book. Maybe it's that huge gang of spoiled celebrities. Did you read the Vancouver Sun in 2009? Jay Leno was reported to be the funniest man in the world. That must be why they let him steal so many hundreds of my posts and broadcast them in his monologue. That must be why they let him put the Shards on the Tonight Show when the band stole my new song Virtue in 2007. And they talked about his money so you could admire his success. He has 150 million dollars. And he let me stand in the rain and wait in soup lines for handouts as I starved to pay my high rent in my old apartment. They like to praise people who build their careers out of stealing my web posts. You should also admire Seal because Seal is a grandfather. Oh, how nice! And without Seal, you wouldn't have had Justin Bieber. Oh, hooray for Seal! What pioneer. Is he incarcerated for stealing my hits? people like this have been rewarded for committing crimes with my work. And how much money did they say Justin Bieber made? Fifty million? Well, you better trust him more than you trust me because he has so much more money than I do.
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The Highest Flattery

I've had to content myself strictly with the listening pleasure offered by my music because the internet and the TV and radio have fixed themselves so firmly between me and my would-be fans. Since this has deprived me of virtually all human contact for years and years, I may forget that I am the subject of attention and make and occasional error in social discourse, which my criminal detractors are then eager to seize upon and hold against me. If that was the case with my statement saying that I wrote the only good songs on the web, let me amend it for you now: I should have written that they thought I wrote the only good songs on the internet because I have been the sole target of their lengthy crimes. As for me, I can't fairly say that I wrote the only good songs on the web because I don't browse enough to discover whatever else might be out there. So that was just a typo. As for my words about Facebook, they were a provoked response to mounting pressure from others around me to start living my life on Facebook. They were said largely from irritation and ought not to be taken as my definitive opinion on the matter. Now, who said they would have so praised you the other day? Are you blind? These monsters had a chance to praise me in 2007 and all they did was lie and cheat and steal until I couldn't take it anymore and had to evacuate the internet. And did you see how much of my work they stole? Is that the act of someone who would suddenly turn around and praise me? These people wanted me dead so they could make bullshit stars out of my web posts and you think they would have praised me if I didn't complain about it afterwards. That's really ridiculous and I'm glad I don't watch TV anymore if its producing such foolish beliefs. When I heard about Dateline being my 'heroes' in early 2013, I was immediately suspicious and I protested at once, but I bet you thought that they were going to praise me after their network tried to murder me and failed. Whatever praise Dateline had in mind for me in 2013 would have resulted in a quickly terminated career to hide their filthy fraud. And what kind of a deal did you have in mind for me in exchange for their praise? Did you think I should let them have eight years of my web posts? Why don't you throw in my first born child, as well? And let's not forget a monthly pint of my blood to feed their workers. And this would be to see that they praise music that my listeners already liked to start with. Sure, yeah, great deal for everyone. On another error, let me apologize for writing that the internet was invented in 1976. I confused it with the worldwide web, which was invented in that year. The internet was invented earlier, in 1969.
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Affinity

I vaguely recall previously authoring this song, so I'm backdating its copyright to 2007. Sorry, but it takes longer to detect my rewritten older works now - after I rewrote so many other thousands of them in the last six years. If anyone else still has it from my first posting, prosecute the offender. And I share my music is for the private home use of my listeners. Any other use will be legally prosecuted. Almost set for extension Dimensions far and near Challenging comprehension And forestalling all fear Leaving a channel open Ringing notes transpire As I aspire to my Austerity I recall in the past when I thought I had it rough The worst apprehensions I had then Were hardly more than a bluff Less interference without a Strangely adjusted view Peacefully freed for a new Discovery Low expectancy Plenty of time to demolish Drudgeries more to acknowledge More known, less to see Sporting an air of detachment Wait for the moment to happen What an elation to see you Looks like it's been a while I wouldn't have dared to believe you Still had the same cute smile Through the formalities that Clutter the light of day Some possibility of Affinity Old fiend surfacing Keeping the meeting informal Balancing close to the carnal No uncertainty Whether to stay in the distance Or shove aside this resistance
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I Don't Need Facebook

Just when I left the public library earlier, I was recognized and greeted by a young couple. Of all the hundreds of strangers who have said things to me as I passed them in the street over the last eight years, I still don't know a single one of their names. If I wanted to learn their names, I'd start wearing a miniature camera in my collar - which is well within my financial means at the moment. I could then make an image file for my own reference and track the mystery faces down on Facebook. Everyone has a Facebook account, right? That's how we verify our identities now, apparently. But I don't use Facebook, so how is it that so many hundreds of strangers recognize me in the street every day? And how did my face end up being broadcast on Dateline NBC behind my back? And how did their viewers still recognize my likeness through those vicious Photoshop alterations? Seems that millions of Americans know my face extremely well. But who knows the faces of all these Facebook users who recognize me in the street? Not me, for starters. I'm quite sure none of you would recognize them or know their names either. I'm glad I was able to put my face on YouTube before Facebook came along. Being on YouTube is all I can handle for now.
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Stars Above

We're deep into the dreary season here on the Lower Mainland, but I'm in good spirits. I've been working on a new recording with rewarding results - so far. My music is fun: just ask any of the bands that ripped me off. This weekend we celebrate the most important holiday of the year: Chinese New Year. That's when my people get together to show Americans who invented fireworks. And we all dress up as zodiac signs and go on parade. (Orphans who don't know their birthdays all join together to make up the dragon costume.) It's a real blast. Speaking of zodiac signs, I'm inclined to believe that there is some credibility to astrological research when it is done well. Someone from my past tried to tell me of something extraordinary in my star chart, based on the precise time of my birth. It was before I started writing and sharing hits songs on the web. I was also amazed to hear about the American astrologer who was able to guess that the judge's son had drowned based on nothing but information about the boy's time of birth. Did I ever mention that I was born in the Year of the Snake? We're supposed to be financially fortunate. Maybe it's from writing hit songs. We'll see.
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On the Loose

I've just posted possibly my last reconstructed Austin Powers cartoon. I was only drawing them for a few months in 2007, so I couldn't have produced much more than what I'm showing now. I will continue to add to my cartoons, as inspiration may allow, over the duration of my life. I think there are more possibilities for expansion of Austin Powers as a cartoon now that Mike Myers has used up all of its movie potential for himself. Also working on a new song but I broke my guitar strings again. They take a lot of stress from being tightened and loosened between my recordings of my guitar tracks and bass tracks with the same instrument.
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Austin Powers:International Man of Mystery/Overt Fragility

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Broadcasters Are Dirty

Do you think you need your TV? I used to think so. I live a solitary life, so I used to rely heavily on the TV and trust the people who appeared on it. Then they started ripping off my blogs. At first, I thought I was hallucinating, since my account showed me almost no views - just as it does now - but time has revealed the unspeakable dimensions of the TV's fraud with my work. Now I have to do without my TV friends because I can no longer trust them. I never needed shows like Saturday Night Live for amusement. Few others can amuse me as well as I can amuse myself. I used them for company. I might have 'hung out' with them from my living room on a lonely Saturday night. If only I'd have had some sense of how corrupt they were, but the TV does such a convincing job of presenting its monsters as angels. It sets us all up for exploitation, one way or another. It's probably about time I repeated that I HATE telling people that their idols ripped me off. I hate having to share heart breaking news like that. It's like being stuck having to tell someone that his mother died or something. It's very unpleasant. But the broadcasters have already bet their futures on my failure, so I have no choice but to do their jobs now and report the crimes of all these stars. Look how the business has been acting as I share more and more details of my experience. As I reported the ghastly details of those Crystalid orgies, Nickleback was still stalking me from their limousine because I hadn't yet rewritten Fool's Paradise. And that was probably Seal's limousine that stalked me into late December of last year, after I rewrote Beguiled. Yes, I wrote Bad News in 2007, as well. I thought Mom had died for a short time because of a communication error. And CBC wanted that creep to have a hit with it after I went online and explained that I couldn't use the song myself after finding out that Mom was still alive. But if I couldn't play Bad News for my dead mother because she was still alive, the broadcasters thought it was fair for Seal to take my place with this intimate personal expression of my heart - for eight years. They sure got him off to a strong start with that hype they gave his fraud version on CBC-FM in November 2007. Did they like that middle part? Yes, the suspended chords are meant to sound like a funeral, but I'd like to try it on a pipe organ for full effect. Was Seal worshiped for this inspiration of mine? They're dirty. The TV is dirty. TV networks are dirty. Music labels are dirty. Wealthy stars who steal from struggling artists on the internet are dirty. Don't be fooled by their expensive image because it was all paid for with the proceeds of the most nauseating fraud you could imagine.
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© 2016. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

What's News to Me

Finally got my blogs together on one page. You can see it at Chronoblog:2010-2015. I have so many blogs now that I need the computer to help me remember them all. That was a great help to all those crooked broadcasters after they drove me off the internet with their abuse in 2007. See how I couldn't even recall my Austin Powers cartoon until late last year, it was buried under so many other creations that broadcasters stole from me and paid themselves for. There was a customer in one of these stores yesterday who seemed upset that the clerk hadn't heard some CBC news story that he thought was important. Maybe if he learned a little more about others before deciding what we should care about, he'd have discovered that this clerk is from another country, with an outsider's insight for detecting the media driven evil in our culture. As for news stories that people care about, I bet people are outraged by the crimes of major broadcasters since I first innocently stumbled into the path of their corporate juggernaut. And people would also appreciate knowing when major stars have been prosecuted and incarcerated for fraud. JavaScript note: I'm quite sure that I shared a similar program in the past to help me stay abreast of my volume. And if I did, maybe the code looks familiar to you from whoever ripped off my web pages. Anyway, it works well in Safari, where I authored it, and well enough in Chrome and IE. It documents the long and shameful struggle of one man against legions of cowards and creeps on the TV.
Arguments Copyright Issues Comedy Sketches Cartoons Lyrics Poems
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© 2016. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.