6:45 am CDT
Media Blackout

Paul Joseph Watson and Alex Jones: Santa Ana, California: Illegal Aliens Riot, US Citizens Beaten and Stabbed


6:38 am CDT
The Big Boycott

Los Angeles: Immigrant Boycott Had Biggest Effect on Latino Businesses

Mexico: 'Day Without Gringos' a Flop


6:34 am CDT
Dictator Bush Got Him Little Feelings Hurt by Big Bad Comedian ...

... and now, the cowardly, butt-licking mainstream media is rushing to defend his honor ...

Cohen, 'Wash Post' Columnist, Says Colbert was 'Rude' and a 'Bully'

Colbert Reaction Shows Media Are Frightened of Bush

Colbert Roasts Bush in Hellfire of His Own Making

6:59 pm CDT
RADIO MACK

Just letting you know that I've updated my Live365 stream Radio Mack with lots of great songs by such artists as the Fugs (singing "Government Surveillance Yodel"), the Legendary Stardust Cowboy, Buck Owens, Marvin Gaye, Spanky and Our Gang, and much more. The three-hour loop also includes four editions of my weekly show, including the latest. LISTEN HERE. If you would just like to hear the latest show by itself CLICK HERE to download the 28-minute mp3 file.


12:14 pm CDT
The Smart Way to Earn Your US Citizenship

1. Enter the country illegally. This will demonstrate your commitment to abide by US laws.

2. Go to work for an unscrupulous company willing to hire you. This will help drive down wages, and as a result will demonstrate your solidarity with American workers and your intention to affect the US economy in a positive way.

3. Apply for government benefits. You will receive them, no questions asked, and US citizens will appreciate the extra competition for these limited resources. It will also endear you to US taxpayers.

4. Refuse to learn English. Speak Spanish instead. Or, at the very least, speak English badly. Banks and other institutions will still do business with you, and your refusal to speak English will be taken as proof that you earnestly wish to be part of US society and uphold the ideals and traditions that have made US citizenship so desirable.

5. Pour into the streets by the thousands and demand citizenship, as loudly and aggressively as possible. This will convince everyone that you are willing to do what it takes to earn citizenship. And don't forget to bring a Mexican flag to the demonstration. This will show how willing you are to uphold the part of the Oath of Citizenship that says you will "renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which [you] have heretofore been a subject or citizen." Also, hold up signs that say things like: "We clean your hotel rooms ... We cook your food ... We build your homes ... We take care of your children ... etc." This will remind millions of unemployed US citizens that they used to have those jobs; as a result, they will welcome you to this country with open arms. And, as an added effect, make sure everyone wears the same color shirt--white, for instance. Not only does such uniformity of color make those aerial shots on tv more impressive, it brings back fond memories of other famous color-coordinated groups, such as Hitler's Brownshirts and Mussolini's Blackshirts. This will reassure US citizens who have heard the racist "reconquista" rhetoric and are doubtful of your intentions ...

Opponents of Illegal Immigration Sound Off: Just Follow the Law

Illegal Immigration Lowers Public Safety, Must be Halted

Latino Americans for Immigration Reform

Saturday, May 6: A Reckoning in Crawford, Texas

12:43 pm CDT
Big Bus Trip of '68, Part 4

Our ride had arrived. We grabbed our bags and went outside. "Howdy!" said the man. "I'm Pete. I'm one of the counselors."

We introduced ourselves and climbed into the van. Then we were off. We drove several miles outside town to a heavily wooded, hilly area, then left the main road and began bumping down a twisty dirt road lined with dense foliage. Several minutes later, we turned onto a gravel driveway and found ourselves in a valley heading towards a big auditorium with a white cross on top. "That's the new tabernacle," said Pete.

We drove around behind the tabernacle. "Over there's the swimming pool," said Pete. It was a good thing he identified it as the pool; otherwise you wouldn't have known what it was, as it was surrounded by a ten-foot wall.

"And there's the cafeteria," said Pete, pointing to a building ahead. We drove around to the back of the building where there was a large, open-air recreational area. About thirty or forty young people were gathered there.

"This is where you register," said Pete. "You're one of the first to arrive. Most of 'em won't be in till tonight."

We went up to the registration table, paid our eighteen-dollar fee, and received our cabin assignment and some printed materials.

Richard and I went to our cabin, 9-A. There were four bunk beds inside. We picked out our beds and lay down, exhausted. I started reading the printed materials aloud. First were the rules:

1. Boys are not allowed to venture on the side of the camp where the girls' cabins are located, and vice versa.

2. Boys and girls will use the swimming pool at different times. Girls: 1-2:30 pm. Boys: 3-4:30 pm.

3. Girls are expected to remain covered with a bathrobe while walking to and from the swimming pool.

4. Boys and girls are not allowed to kiss, hold hands, or touch each other for any reason.

5. Boys and girls are not allowed to be alone together, but must remain in sight of a camp counselor at all times.

I looked at Richard. He looked away.

"Well," I said, "I guess we can forget about making out with girls in the woods. Are you sure this is the same camp you went to?"

"Yeah, it's the same."

"Did they have all these rules the last time you were here?"

"I don't remember. It was a long time ago."

"How long ago?"

"Seven years."

"You mean you were eight years old the last time you were here?"

"Yeah, it was the kids camp," he said. "This is the first time I've been to the teenagers camp. I guess they have more rules for this one. Or maybe they're the same, I don't know. I was eight. Rules like that wouldn't have been a big deal back then, I guess."

"Oh well," I said, "it doesn't matter."

Next, I read the camp's daily schedule:

5:30 am - Rise and shine!
6:30-7:30 am - Morning Devotional in the Tabernacle.
7:30-8:30 am - Breakfast in the Cafeteria.
8:30-11 am - Morning Church Service in the Tabernacle.
11 am-12 pm - Free Time.
12-1 pm - Lunch in the Cafeteria.
1-4:30 pm - Free Time.
4:30-5:30 pm -Dinner in the Cafeteria.
5:30-8 pm - Evening Church Service in the Tabernacle.
8-8:30 pm - Socialize in Rec Area.
8:30-9:30 pm - Evening Devotional with Counselors in the cabins.
9:30 pm - Lights out!

I looked at Richard. "I thought you said there wasn't going to be a lot of religious stuff at this camp, just a few church services every now and then."

"Aw, it's just two church services a day," said Richard, yawning.

"Not if you count the morning and evening devotionals. That's four. And if you add up all the hours--" I quickly calculated "--it comes to seven hours a day."

He shut his eyes.

"That's a lot of church for one day."

He started snoring. But I knew he wasn't really asleep. He just didn't want to talk about it.

I didn't say anything more about it myself, but I continued to think about it. I calculated that, by the time we left for home on Saturday, we would have undergone a total of 38-1/2 hours of religious indoctrination.

This was no summer camp. This was a concentration camp ...

to be continued

12:43 pm CDT
Girls on the Brain




12:34 pm CDT
Dictator Bush

The Boston Globe is now reporting that the president believes he has the authority to disobey over 750 laws passed by Congress. And those are just the laws passed on his watch. As we've already seen with the FISA statute, the president also feels he has the right to ignore laws passed by previous administrations as well ... LINK


12:27 pm CDT
The Truth behind the Immigration Protests

Bushite Neo-Cons Responsible for May Day Immigration Protests

Many Hispanics Say Protesters Not Speaking for Them

Illegal Aliens on the Streets 'Don't Speak for Us,' Says New Hispanic-American Coalition


6:28 am CDT
Big Bus Trip of '68, Part 3

We stopped walking and warily approached the car. It was not a cop car and the men weren't wearing uniforms, just plain short-sleeved shirts. They didn't look like any cops I had ever seen. And yet, looking inside the car, I saw a police radio mounted under the dash; it crackled with cop talk and static.

"Let's see some identification," barked the man. His partner smoked a cigar, watching us with a half-smile.

We pulled out our beginners drivers licenses and handed them over. The man looked at them. "Texas?" he said. "What are you doing here? Are you runaways?"

"No sir," said Richard, "we're on a bus trip. We're going to Bill Wright's Bible Ranch in Murfreesboro for the summer camp."

"Well, this ain't Murfreesboro. Don't you know where you are?"

"Yes sir, we're just waiting for our bus to Murfreesboro. It doesn't leave till nine."

"Let's see your bus tickets."

We took them out of our shirt pockets and handed them over. The man looked at them and gave them back, along with our identification.

"Well," he said, "you boys ain't supposed to be on the street. Nashville has a curfew. You can't be out at night if you're under eighteen."

"Really?" we both said. We had never heard of such a thing; we were from a small town where the Dairy Queen and Chief Drive-In Theatre and other businesses would have gone out of business without teenagers cruising the town at night.

The man smiled at our ignorance. "Yeah, really," he said. "Now, you go on back to your bus station and stay there. Don't come out till the sun comes up."

"Well, we were hoping we could get some breakfast," said Richard, "but the Trailways station doesn't have a cafe."

The black man spoke up: "Go to the Greyhound station. They got a big cafeteria that's open all night. It's just two blocks that way and turn left. You'll see it."

With that, the men waved goodbye and drove away. Richard and I walked to the Greyhound station.

Inside, it was mostly black people. The juke box was blasting soul music. We went through the cafeteria line and got our breakfast. Richard was ravenous; he wolfed down his food. I had no appetite; breakfast was not my favorite meal, especially at such an hour. In fact, I felt queasy, a condition that was aggravated by Richard smacking and talking with his mouth full. I picked at my scrambled eggs and sausage, then gave up trying to eat and wandered over to the newsstand to browse the magazines and paperbacks. I bought a Mad magazine; on the cover was Alfred E. Newman fixed up to look like the Maharashi, with the Beatles, Mia Farrow, and the real Maharishi below, holding him up. Richard bought some comic books. We sat down and read for a while.



In a little while, we got tired of reading. We were antsy to explore Nashville. Was the sun up yet? We stepped outside to see. It was still dark, thus the curfew was still in effect. And yet, the streets were quieter now; the honky-tonks were closed and there was almost no traffic. If we struck out walking now, we figured, no one would see us. So off we went.

We were right. We walked with complete freedom through pre-dawn Nashville. No one saw us. Now and then a car would come into view, and we would dodge into an alley or the recessed lobby of a store until the car passed, then continue on our way.

Gradually, the streets filled with sunlight. We found ourselves in front of a movie theatre, looking at the posters and stills for 2001: A Space Odyssey. "Wow," I said, "I want to see this."

We kept walking. After a while, we turned a corner and saw the Grand Ole Opry building, tall against the blue morning sky. We approached it with fascination, stared up at it, walked around it, went down an alley--then did a quick about-face when we saw a bum taking a shit.

"That was gross," said Richard. I agreed. He glanced at his watch. "Let's get back to the bus station."

We caught our bus to Murfreesboro. The Trailways station in Murfreesboro was even smaller than the one in Nashville; there was no one but us in the waiting room. Richard made a call on the pay phone to the Bible Ranch for someone to pick us up; he was told that morning church service was about to begin, therefore it would be three hours before someone arrived.

The wait was unbearable. We were sick of bus stations, and bored, and tired; we had run out of things to talk about, and in fact were beginning to get on each other's nerves. We walked the streets of Murfreesboro, not saying a word. It was Sunday morning, so everything was closed--everything except a small neighborhood grocery store. We went inside. Richard bought a large chocolate-cherry pastry of some kind. We found a city park and sat on a bench. Richard started eating, then spat out a mouthful. "This tastes like shit," he said, and threw the pastry on the ground. Ants immediately swarmed all over it. We watched them for about five minutes. Then, having derived all possible entertainment value from the spectacle, we headed back to the bus station.

A girl was sitting in the lobby, a large suitcase on the floor beside her. She was a plain girl, serious looking; she wore no make-up and her eyebrows were unplucked--in fact, they met in the middle, forming a monobrow. She appeared to be our age, but was dressed like someone much older; her dress extended well below her knees and she wore her hair in a tight bun. I was reminded of Miss McCarty, the spinster math teacher, only this girl was even more severe in both manner and appearance than Miss McCarty. She took no notice of us, but sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead.

"Are you going to the Bible Ranch?" Richard asked.

"Yes."

"So are we."

"Good." She took a Bible out of her purse and began reading. End of conversation.

I had a bad feeling. If this girl was typical of the girls who were attending this camp, not only were we not likely to get laid--we might not want to get laid.

Around one o'clock, a van pulled up outside. Emblazoned on the side in rustic western letters were the words "Bill Wright's Bible Ranch." A man got out; he was wearing a cowboy hat, T-shirt, jeans, snakeskin boots, and a large belt buckle with a cross on it ...

to be continued