5PM Productions brings back some of its old school spoken word from the podcasts to share with you here on youtube.
You want to know why Rambo shot up that town? Well, it ain't no DaVinci Code...
Friday, February 8, 2008
Rambo Wanted Breakfast (Spoken Word Series)
Alien/Einstein Connection
Albert Einstein was never a physicist. He was a German Chef who made the only meals the alien greys would eat. He was extracted from Germany, not because of any kind of work on a nuclear bomb, but an ability to make some of the most potent sauerkraut and weisswurst in the world. The alien greys wanted to have micro waved food, so they shared some of their secret technology. It turned out to be the wrong formula, all necessary information for building an atomic bomb. Not expecting the humans to figure it out, the aliens quickly shared the the proper microwaving technology for warming cold pizza.
The greys wanted better food, and the government officials wanted a way to stop the Japanese and Germans. The alien greys shared more technology with Albert such as Teflon. Cooking omelets and bacon never got easier. Then again, the cholesterol levels of the greys had never gone up so high before.
Fiber optics and cell phones came about because of the alien greys desire for food prepared fast, which humans would later be introduced to as "fast food." McDonald's is merely a branch of the government finding out if mass feeding will increase production. It has proven very successful since the first McDonalds in 1937. Oldly enough, the fry guys were the mirror image of small greys and Grimace represented what would become of the alien greys from over consumption. Morgan Spurlock was sent in to create mixed messages and misinform the public. Just as prohibition on alcohol proved, once you go anti-anything, you create the curiosity and demand for it.
Once it was made known to the alien greys that the Americans had intentions of attacking the Germans and the Japanese with nuclear weapons, the greys demanded that Germany be spared. They refused to share anymore cooking technology until they were assured Germany would be spared. The greys had been tricked into believing they would be able to visit cities like Wurzburg, Mannheim and Heidelberg. After Germany was leveled with conventional weapons, the Marshall Plan was enacted to quickly rebuild Germany so the alien greys could get that tour of Europe they had been promised (lied to about).
In 1947, the only other known spacecraft to visit earth tried to find their alien grey brethren in Arcada, California. The alien greys miscalculated the gravitational pull of the earth while hoping to take several pictures of the well known White Sands of New Mexico in route to California. The spacecraft crashed into Roswell, New Mexico. The alien greys died before they could try the tasty burgers and fries of McDonalds or make contact with their fellow greys that were being held captive by the United States government.
The government had read H.G. Wells novel War of the Worlds to get a better understanding on how to take care of their captives. They had expected the alien greys to be grossly overweight like the novel had promised, but they were twig skinny. When the greys began gaining weight from mass consumption of German food, the American officials figured the situation to be a natural evolution for the greys. They also waited for earthen bacteria to kill off the greys like the novel had promised. That was a futile waiting game. The greys were healthier on earth due to massive amounts of CFC's in the air from deodorizing cans of Lysol and Glade.
Why does the government keep all the information on the aliens' secret? Because they fucked up in a big way and don't want anyone to know that every single grey in the government's custody died from obesity. If you think Abu Ghraib was bad, you have no idea what happened on an inter-galactic level. The aliens' sex organs were such a convoluted puzzle of antennae, wet spots, and extra eyeballs that the aliens couldn't be forced to masturbate like some of the governments employees would have liked. The government was never quite sure whether or not the aliens were actually being stimulated sexually so they imposed the next worst form of humiliation, the greys were forced to chicken dance.
The only photo of the alien greys to leak out was from their trip to Germany with their favorite chef, Albert Einstein.
The greys wanted better food, and the government officials wanted a way to stop the Japanese and Germans. The alien greys shared more technology with Albert such as Teflon. Cooking omelets and bacon never got easier. Then again, the cholesterol levels of the greys had never gone up so high before.
Fiber optics and cell phones came about because of the alien greys desire for food prepared fast, which humans would later be introduced to as "fast food." McDonald's is merely a branch of the government finding out if mass feeding will increase production. It has proven very successful since the first McDonalds in 1937. Oldly enough, the fry guys were the mirror image of small greys and Grimace represented what would become of the alien greys from over consumption. Morgan Spurlock was sent in to create mixed messages and misinform the public. Just as prohibition on alcohol proved, once you go anti-anything, you create the curiosity and demand for it.
Once it was made known to the alien greys that the Americans had intentions of attacking the Germans and the Japanese with nuclear weapons, the greys demanded that Germany be spared. They refused to share anymore cooking technology until they were assured Germany would be spared. The greys had been tricked into believing they would be able to visit cities like Wurzburg, Mannheim and Heidelberg. After Germany was leveled with conventional weapons, the Marshall Plan was enacted to quickly rebuild Germany so the alien greys could get that tour of Europe they had been promised (lied to about).
In 1947, the only other known spacecraft to visit earth tried to find their alien grey brethren in Arcada, California. The alien greys miscalculated the gravitational pull of the earth while hoping to take several pictures of the well known White Sands of New Mexico in route to California. The spacecraft crashed into Roswell, New Mexico. The alien greys died before they could try the tasty burgers and fries of McDonalds or make contact with their fellow greys that were being held captive by the United States government.
The government had read H.G. Wells novel War of the Worlds to get a better understanding on how to take care of their captives. They had expected the alien greys to be grossly overweight like the novel had promised, but they were twig skinny. When the greys began gaining weight from mass consumption of German food, the American officials figured the situation to be a natural evolution for the greys. They also waited for earthen bacteria to kill off the greys like the novel had promised. That was a futile waiting game. The greys were healthier on earth due to massive amounts of CFC's in the air from deodorizing cans of Lysol and Glade.
Why does the government keep all the information on the aliens' secret? Because they fucked up in a big way and don't want anyone to know that every single grey in the government's custody died from obesity. If you think Abu Ghraib was bad, you have no idea what happened on an inter-galactic level. The aliens' sex organs were such a convoluted puzzle of antennae, wet spots, and extra eyeballs that the aliens couldn't be forced to masturbate like some of the governments employees would have liked. The government was never quite sure whether or not the aliens were actually being stimulated sexually so they imposed the next worst form of humiliation, the greys were forced to chicken dance.
The only photo of the alien greys to leak out was from their trip to Germany with their favorite chef, Albert Einstein.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Conscientious Mercenary
Killing people for profit doesn't have to be bad for the environment. Even though there are countless numbers of contract jobs in forgein countries for any American with a valid passport, I can't justify the fossil fuels needed for all that travel. Any third world country without a McDonald's is not worth spending any time in.
Besides, all my mercenary friends tell me they spend most of their time sitting through dust storms protecting some place that doesn't need protecting or babysitting some asshole who thinks he's invincible. Most of them never get to kill anyone since the twenty-four hour cable news networks refuse to report on anything other than them. Mercenary Dave always told me how Wolf Blitzer kept tapping him on the shoulder and asking, "Are you trying to kill someone today?"
I've found an untapped local mercenary job here in Milwaukee on craigslist. The advertisment was pretty simple, "Hitman needed to reduce the number of drunk drivers in Milwaukee." There's only one thing that's better than killing for money, it's killing for a cause. Really makes me feel warm and helpful inside.
I look back at my own life a lot. My dad had three DUI's in one year. Instead of penalizing him, the state of Wisconsin gave him medication which he sells on the black market. He's a great entrprnuer. My mom crashed the family station wagon into the picture window of the house while she was too drunk to realize it wasn't the garage. The city paid for the damages through the federal programs created due to Hurricane Katrina. Self-inflicted damage is no different than the damage caused by living in areas of high risk natural disasters.
I was excited to make a diffence, but I also wanted to be able to walk to work. So I got a sixth floor apartment along Water Street where all the bars are. The Lee Harvey Oswald style of murder didn't appeal to me, even though I could stay warm and cozy in my apartment. There's nothing like drinking rooibush tea in between looking through my scope at the uncoordinated drunkards walking along Water Street trying to find their cars. People die everyday, and why shouldn't some of the people doing the hard part be as comfortable as possible? Instead, I got out of my apartment and close to those I was hired to reduce.
I don't racially profile or stereotype a person by their attire. Everyone has an even opprotunity to meet the maker of their choosing a bit sooner than expected. I really like to utilize my style of creativity when I kill. Who wants to be remembered as the guy who got pushed in front of the bus? Every hit is worthy of a CSI: Milwaukee special starring Henry Winkler. Leave the driving up to the "big green limosine" and the killing up to me.
If you know someone who drinks a little too much everytime they go out to the bars on Water Street, you have a responsibility to stop them before they hurt someone that some one else loves. Everyone is someone else's loved one. I am legally bound to offer you the oxygen a drunkard you point out was using up. Get rid of the ex-boyfriend that used to drive you home drunk way too many times to count. There's no reason to give him the chance to get your best friend killed, now that he's dating her since he broke up with you.
What's always sprinkled around the lifeless body of what was once a drunkard are my form of calling card, animal crackers. Moth cocoons are a bitch to find. I love being an independent contractor for the department of motor vehicles. It's alomost the weekend again, I'll be checking on you along Water Street.
Besides, all my mercenary friends tell me they spend most of their time sitting through dust storms protecting some place that doesn't need protecting or babysitting some asshole who thinks he's invincible. Most of them never get to kill anyone since the twenty-four hour cable news networks refuse to report on anything other than them. Mercenary Dave always told me how Wolf Blitzer kept tapping him on the shoulder and asking, "Are you trying to kill someone today?"
I've found an untapped local mercenary job here in Milwaukee on craigslist. The advertisment was pretty simple, "Hitman needed to reduce the number of drunk drivers in Milwaukee." There's only one thing that's better than killing for money, it's killing for a cause. Really makes me feel warm and helpful inside.
I look back at my own life a lot. My dad had three DUI's in one year. Instead of penalizing him, the state of Wisconsin gave him medication which he sells on the black market. He's a great entrprnuer. My mom crashed the family station wagon into the picture window of the house while she was too drunk to realize it wasn't the garage. The city paid for the damages through the federal programs created due to Hurricane Katrina. Self-inflicted damage is no different than the damage caused by living in areas of high risk natural disasters.
I was excited to make a diffence, but I also wanted to be able to walk to work. So I got a sixth floor apartment along Water Street where all the bars are. The Lee Harvey Oswald style of murder didn't appeal to me, even though I could stay warm and cozy in my apartment. There's nothing like drinking rooibush tea in between looking through my scope at the uncoordinated drunkards walking along Water Street trying to find their cars. People die everyday, and why shouldn't some of the people doing the hard part be as comfortable as possible? Instead, I got out of my apartment and close to those I was hired to reduce.
I don't racially profile or stereotype a person by their attire. Everyone has an even opprotunity to meet the maker of their choosing a bit sooner than expected. I really like to utilize my style of creativity when I kill. Who wants to be remembered as the guy who got pushed in front of the bus? Every hit is worthy of a CSI: Milwaukee special starring Henry Winkler. Leave the driving up to the "big green limosine" and the killing up to me.
If you know someone who drinks a little too much everytime they go out to the bars on Water Street, you have a responsibility to stop them before they hurt someone that some one else loves. Everyone is someone else's loved one. I am legally bound to offer you the oxygen a drunkard you point out was using up. Get rid of the ex-boyfriend that used to drive you home drunk way too many times to count. There's no reason to give him the chance to get your best friend killed, now that he's dating her since he broke up with you.
What's always sprinkled around the lifeless body of what was once a drunkard are my form of calling card, animal crackers. Moth cocoons are a bitch to find. I love being an independent contractor for the department of motor vehicles. It's alomost the weekend again, I'll be checking on you along Water Street.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Suicide Park
Once a week, our family visits Suicide Park. That's when all the approved neighbors come out to show their support for one another. A unified neighborhood is a smaller neighborhood. We are all aware, the environment has been communicating it to our most influential neighbors for years. Only a chosen few can hear the needs of the environment.
My friends and I have been throwing rocks at the next-door neighbor's house for weeks now. Eleven year olds are never held accountable for anything. Adults constantly tell us to help select the next performers from what's left of the unneeded households in the neighborhood. Every single neighbor has to do their part. We are speeding up the next-door neighbor's decision to perform at Suicide Park. It has to be voluntary on their part. We're supposed to get the father ready to perform, but we'd rather see the whole family do a grand finale together. What a spread they would make.
Uncle Nuisance performed at Suicide Park last weekend. I will always cherish the memory. His performance made each of us feel like we were watching our own blood spill, such a proud moment. He performed using the "multi-guillotine." At that moment, I realized I too would want to perform on that very stage at Suicide Park.
He rested himself very comfortably on the center of a worn leather-bound table. The largest table served as a center piece for the four miniature tables pointing out from each corner. He placed both arms and both legs out onto the smaller leather-bound tables. Uncle Nuisance was splayed out, looking like Michelangelo's Vetruvian Man. He rested his head on a very tiny leather padded table, inches away from the center table. I thought of the hangman game us kids play. We're not old enough to perform at Suicide Park.
He looked very calm as he rested there, in front of the audience, like a meditating monk no one else believed they had the ability to be. The crowd of neighbors cheered for Uncle Nuisance's serene resolution. They convinced themselves the fate of the world rested on my uncle's ability to become one with it.
Uncle Nuisance looked at me with peaceful eyes and a sincere smile. Seconds later, he yelled loud enough to activate the voice controlled release system. "I am alive!"
At his command, the entire contraption shuddered. Razor sharp blades severed his head, both arms and legs. We knew not to move. The arms and legs dropped off into the stainless steel pots waiting beneath them, triggering the final blade. A massive blade, twice the size of the others fell down to sever Uncle Nuisance in half, right below the rib cage. I can still hear the chiming sound of the blade as it connected with the guard plate protecting the leather padding of the main table.
The crowd around us was the largest I had ever seen. Everyone was there to support Uncle Nuisance. Neighbors I never knew we had came to see his show.
I am so proud of him for performing at Suicide Park on his fortieth birthday. I decided then and there to give the same performance on my fortieth birthday. I'm only eleven now, maybe I can perform on my thirtieth birthday. Live not, waste not.
The quarters of Uncle Nuisance were carted away in stainless steel pots from the multi-guillotine stage to be prepared. I made sure not to eat that morning. No one in the family had eaten since last night. I'll never forget those hunger pains. My family followed the parade of stainless steel pots to BBQ Garden, a lovely building connected to Suicide Park.
Thank whoever god is, Uncle Nuisance was a bit larger than the Average Standard Man. The Average Standard Man is Al Gore's version of Hitler's perfect race. Every man must fit the standard: same size shoes, same size clothes, same compact car and same lifestyle as dictated by Al Gore's latest book. He named his struggle After Earth: Mars In Balance. It taught me how to be average in every way.
Dinosaurs had to die so humans could drive cars and kill each other over who has the largest supplies of oil. I think about all the wasted bodies below ground. Cemeteries and cremation are bad for the environment. Our ancestors disrespected the bodies of the dead by not consuming them. We don't leave our dead to rot inside coffins. Each of our family members live on inside of us, the young and the old. Ever since the Green Revolution we are allowed to have our family members live on inside of us. We consume them. Dad says we don't leave our dead to be compressed in massive holes to be the next generation of fossil fuel. Minister of Greenery, Leonardo DiCaprio, let those of us with Green Minds know that cannibalism is so much more than just abnormal hunger pains.
As the meal was set before us, we all bowed our heads. Grandpa stood up before the family and said the ceremonial words before we began relative consumption, "The body of Nuisance."
We repeated, "The body of Nuisance."
"The blood of Nuisance."
We replied in chorus, "The blood of Nuisance."
Grandpa made one last comment before the human feast began, "Don't forget about the vomitorium in the other room. No one leaves until we scrape every shard of protein off the skeletal remains of Uncle Nuisance. Bones will be distributed among those of us with pets."
I immediately began stuffing myself with Nuisance. I made sure to be first to the vomitorium!
My friends and I have been throwing rocks at the next-door neighbor's house for weeks now. Eleven year olds are never held accountable for anything. Adults constantly tell us to help select the next performers from what's left of the unneeded households in the neighborhood. Every single neighbor has to do their part. We are speeding up the next-door neighbor's decision to perform at Suicide Park. It has to be voluntary on their part. We're supposed to get the father ready to perform, but we'd rather see the whole family do a grand finale together. What a spread they would make.
Uncle Nuisance performed at Suicide Park last weekend. I will always cherish the memory. His performance made each of us feel like we were watching our own blood spill, such a proud moment. He performed using the "multi-guillotine." At that moment, I realized I too would want to perform on that very stage at Suicide Park.
He rested himself very comfortably on the center of a worn leather-bound table. The largest table served as a center piece for the four miniature tables pointing out from each corner. He placed both arms and both legs out onto the smaller leather-bound tables. Uncle Nuisance was splayed out, looking like Michelangelo's Vetruvian Man. He rested his head on a very tiny leather padded table, inches away from the center table. I thought of the hangman game us kids play. We're not old enough to perform at Suicide Park.
He looked very calm as he rested there, in front of the audience, like a meditating monk no one else believed they had the ability to be. The crowd of neighbors cheered for Uncle Nuisance's serene resolution. They convinced themselves the fate of the world rested on my uncle's ability to become one with it.
Uncle Nuisance looked at me with peaceful eyes and a sincere smile. Seconds later, he yelled loud enough to activate the voice controlled release system. "I am alive!"
At his command, the entire contraption shuddered. Razor sharp blades severed his head, both arms and legs. We knew not to move. The arms and legs dropped off into the stainless steel pots waiting beneath them, triggering the final blade. A massive blade, twice the size of the others fell down to sever Uncle Nuisance in half, right below the rib cage. I can still hear the chiming sound of the blade as it connected with the guard plate protecting the leather padding of the main table.
The crowd around us was the largest I had ever seen. Everyone was there to support Uncle Nuisance. Neighbors I never knew we had came to see his show.
I am so proud of him for performing at Suicide Park on his fortieth birthday. I decided then and there to give the same performance on my fortieth birthday. I'm only eleven now, maybe I can perform on my thirtieth birthday. Live not, waste not.
The quarters of Uncle Nuisance were carted away in stainless steel pots from the multi-guillotine stage to be prepared. I made sure not to eat that morning. No one in the family had eaten since last night. I'll never forget those hunger pains. My family followed the parade of stainless steel pots to BBQ Garden, a lovely building connected to Suicide Park.
Thank whoever god is, Uncle Nuisance was a bit larger than the Average Standard Man. The Average Standard Man is Al Gore's version of Hitler's perfect race. Every man must fit the standard: same size shoes, same size clothes, same compact car and same lifestyle as dictated by Al Gore's latest book. He named his struggle After Earth: Mars In Balance. It taught me how to be average in every way.
Dinosaurs had to die so humans could drive cars and kill each other over who has the largest supplies of oil. I think about all the wasted bodies below ground. Cemeteries and cremation are bad for the environment. Our ancestors disrespected the bodies of the dead by not consuming them. We don't leave our dead to rot inside coffins. Each of our family members live on inside of us, the young and the old. Ever since the Green Revolution we are allowed to have our family members live on inside of us. We consume them. Dad says we don't leave our dead to be compressed in massive holes to be the next generation of fossil fuel. Minister of Greenery, Leonardo DiCaprio, let those of us with Green Minds know that cannibalism is so much more than just abnormal hunger pains.
As the meal was set before us, we all bowed our heads. Grandpa stood up before the family and said the ceremonial words before we began relative consumption, "The body of Nuisance."
We repeated, "The body of Nuisance."
"The blood of Nuisance."
We replied in chorus, "The blood of Nuisance."
Grandpa made one last comment before the human feast began, "Don't forget about the vomitorium in the other room. No one leaves until we scrape every shard of protein off the skeletal remains of Uncle Nuisance. Bones will be distributed among those of us with pets."
I immediately began stuffing myself with Nuisance. I made sure to be first to the vomitorium!
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