Christopher King

Okay. It seems Gersh has gone tits up. Let's continue the search...

Let's move on to the William Morris Agency. I hear they do talent shows and whatever. Here is the very email I will send to a Mister Jeff Lesh, who apparently handles their comedy talent.

Ahem.

Dear Mister Lesh,

I took a look at your webpage and I see that you people handle comedy talent. Well listen: I'm a comedian by the name of Christopher King. I previously performed under the name of Chris King Pop Icon. I fully expected to be arrested or killed by now, but no success there. So it's on to finding an agent! I'm ready to clean up my act and play whatever cruise ships or retirement homes you people place your talent into.

Here are my stats: I am a caucasian male, forty-two years old. I am good looking, I have all my teeth, and my thick head of hair is completely natural. My shoe size is 9, regular width, with no special podiatric requirements of any kind --which is useful for wardrobe people; they don't like messing around with weird feet. I wear a 40 Regular jacket. My trousers are a size 30 with a 32-inch inseam. My penis is a perfectly reasonable five inches erect. (If I am generous with the placement of the ruler and how I define "root," then my length approaches 5.5 inches.) I'm a grower, not a show-er, so this can sometimes cause unthinking comments from others. For this reason, I require my own dressing room. Because I do not have one of those seamstress' measuring tapes, I cannot state with any certainty the precise circumference of my penis. I will say, though, that there is a little slop inside your standard-sized condom. In the movies I see, people's penises fill condoms pretty well, and they even have to stretch them a little bit to get them on. I don't have that problem.

So anyway, if you think that you're interested, please call me at the Rockingham Shell gas station in Rockingham, Vermont. It's in the book.

Yours in Complete Awe at Aallll the Completely Relevant Material We're Handling in This Glorious, New Golden Age of Comedy,

Christopher R. King

Just as I expected. I've been selected as one of the finalists.

I'm well on my way to having a national platform from which to declaim on weighty matters of the day.

Come tasteth mine Nunchaku of Righteousness.

This is how you wage information warfare.

...el nunchaku style...

Let's say that I expected The Abortion to raise a stink about something I'm doing or to otherwise threaten to cause trouble for me. The proper response to that is to pick one item of damning truth that is not yet part of the public consciousness and indicate that I can make it part of the public consciousness if they'd like. One particularly damning piece of evidence is the Israeli talk show clip of the Five Dancing Israelis saying, "Our purpose was to document the event."

Israel is a dead nation. It killed itself. The best one can hope for now is to allow that corpse to sink without dragging world Jewry down with it. Let that diseased limb rot and fall off. Repair the body of Jewry without the influence of that satanic illness.

The goal is to make a very clean rhetorical cut, to cleanly divide and make a distinction between Jewry and Israel. Israel is not a Jewish nation. It is not the Jewish homeland. That was just the advertising. Israel is an energy outpost, created by bankers. The architects and beneficiaries of Israel are not Jewish. A miracle happened there, and that is that bankers were able to con so many Jews into tilling the soil and manning the garrisons for them.

It is vitally important that the cut be made decisively and cleanly. Then cauterize the wound and wrap it up.

In this way, information warfare is waged against an adversary who must operate in the dark. You simply indicate that you can drag them into the light, if they'd like.

Dealing with intelligence agencies is supremely easy once you understand the rules by which they have chosen to operate. It is not possible for a darkness-dwelling entity to engage an entity who remains in the light. It's that simple. Darkness-dwelling forces are completely, utterly powerless in the light. Don't forget that.

Mommy, I want some nunchucks.

http://www.happyninja.com/p-419-nunchucks-octagonal-black-14.aspx

We can have a nunchuck competition as an occasional segment on my show. Maybe even have Chuck Norris come on and show me how to properly use el nunchaku.

I just thought up a new joke.

Why do they call it 'Comedy Central?' ...

...So that people know there's comedy in their shows.

It's like a foot powder or other health elixir. Say you've got a corn on your toe. If you go to the drug store, you won't know what something called 'Zambria' is supposed to do. But if you see something called 'Corn B Gon,' you will buy it, convinced that it will make your corn go away. Even if it doesn't really do anything, you'll be convinced that it's the best corn removal preparation on the market. Obviously it has to be, because they're the professionals and it says something about corns right on the box.

And that's why they call it 'Comedy Central.'

You know that product called 'Cow Udder Balm' or whatever the name of the thing is they sell at feed stores? It's for making cow udders healthy or moisturized or something. It is not even advertised to be a women's hair conditioner, but women use it as such nonetheless. It works great. It's the best hair conditioner there is. All the women know about it. And it doesn't even have the word 'conditioner' in the name.

I have settled on my new task.

I will annihilate all competing earthly political structures and I will erect one of my own design, one that will provide for equity, justice, peace, beauty, and the elevation of the human mind.

Hey, Mullen...

Is there a special ribbon for serving in Afghanistan? Some kind of Opium Expeditionary Force citation? Or a Joint Meritorious Smack War Commendation? When those men under your command go home in body bags, do you include a note to their loved ones, a note saying that they died defending your banker master's heroin trade, the trade that the Taliban had successfully terminated?

A bombshell article in today’s edition of the New York Times lifts the lid on how the brother of Afghan President Hamid Karzai, a suspected kingpin of the country’s booming opium trade, has been on the CIA payroll for the past eight years. However, the article serves as little more than a whitewash because it fails to address the fact that one of the primary reasons behind the 2001 invasion of Afghanistan was the agenda to reinstate the Golden Crescent drug trade.

“The agency pays (Ahmed Wali) Karzai for a variety of services, including helping to recruit an Afghan paramilitary force that operates at the C.I.A.’s direction in and around the southern city of Kandahar, Mr. Karzai’s home,” reports the Times.

...

The Afghan opium trade has exploded since the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan, following a lull after the Taliban had imposed a crackdown. According to the U.N., the drug trade is now worth $65 billion. Afghanistan produces 92 per cent of the world’s opium, with the equivalent of 3,500 tonnes leaving the country each year. Other figures put the number far higher, at around 6,100 tonnes a year.

The New York Times exposé pins the blame on Karzai, but fails to explain that one of the primary reasons behind the 2001 invasion of Afghanistan was the United States’ agenda to restore, not eradicate, the drug trade.

Before the invasion, the Taliban collaborated closely with the U.N. to reduce opium production down to just 185 tonnes, a figure at least 2000% below current levels. The notion that the “Taliban benefits from the drug trade” and that the U.S. is trying to stop it, as both Bush and Obama claimed, is the complete opposite of what is actually happening.

http://www.prisonplanet.com/ny-times-afghan-opium-kingpin-on-cia-payroll.html

I saw a bumper sticker on someone's car the other day. It read, "My Daddy is fighting for our freedom." I just shook my head. While I appreciate that her Daddy's heart is in the right place, this nation's Generals' and Admirals' hearts are, most certainly, not.

You just keep racking up the accomplishments, don't you? You use your E-4B command and control aircraft to direct drones with 747 engines into the Twin Towers under cover of your Global Guardian exercise, you roll out your long-planned NORTHCOM for the purpose of putting down the population when they finally come around to the knowledge that their country's been stolen, and you can't even win an opium war. Gettin' your asses kicked, I see.

How did you ever come to believe that you would prevail against an armed population who don't want you there? Was it by the same genius train of logic that led you to believe that no one would identify that drone engine on Murray Street and use it to annihilate your jurisdiction?

Some Vermont National Guardsman came into the store the other day. We get them in all the time. Vermont sends a lot of her sons to those foreign hellholes. They're fighting for freedom, don't you know. So the guy --a senior sergeant of some kind-- hooks a thumb at my blue Saturn Vue and says, "Is that your car? What's with the license plate?" He seemed innocently curious.

I said, "That's my own government." I continued ringing up someone's Life Water or Smart Water or whatever. Some make you smart and some make you beautiful. But they all make you three dollars lighter.

He says, "What do you mean? How do you get away with having your own government?"

I said, "Well, I figure that if the Pentagon can fly planes into the World Trade Center and get away with it, then I get to have my own government." I said it loud enough so that everyone in the store could hear me. They all looked at the Guardsman with that facial expression that says, "Mm hm. He's exactly right, you know."

He knew precisely what I was talking about. He's not stupid; he knows full well what happened on 9-11. He just shook his head and said, "Man, you got some balls."

I said, "It's not balls when you're dealing with criminals. It's revulsion."

Mullen, you and your disgusting, dishonorable fraternity of Officer Club thieves and murderous cowards make me want to vomit. How do you do it? How does your kind get up on TV and make like you're defennin' freedom all day long when you know that people know that you're a fraud? I mean, I can understand maintaining the charade as long as you're getting away with it, but a simple sense of embarrassment would seem to necessitate coming clean at some point. What capacity for embarrassment must one possess to carry on like you do?

When you kneel before your banker masters to worship and service their cocks, do they make you disrobe completely as submissive little bitches are to do, or do they permit you to fellate them in your khakis and your shoulder boards and your fruit salad? (Maybe it's more satisfying to them, to see you defile your uniform as you wrap your plump, loving lips around their fat poles and look up at them with a smile as you relish every last curve of that fat, veiny, frightful thing they've hung in your face.)

Mullen, you make me sick. You and all those faggoty-ass Generals, scuffing up their Corfams in their haste to suck banker cock and feel fat nuts slap their chins.

Don't ask and don't tell, right?

You. are. disgusting, Mullen. You and that entire, fraudulent officer corps.

Do you remember those spacetime engines I talked about?

Spacetime engines propel space vehicles through space. They do this not by moving the vehicle, but by collapsing successive wave functions such that the surrounding space "moves past" the vehicle. The process is similar to that employed on stage in a school play: If you want to simulate the movement of a boat on a river, for example, the boat at center stage will not move; the background will move, as a scroll being cranked.

That is how space vehicles will move in the future.

What is occurring is that an informationally plausible connection is being made between each point in the vehicle's path. What do I mean by that? Let's say that you're driving a car down the street. It is informationally plausible that you will advance to the next point in your path as long as you have the gasoline to do so, and that your engine doesn't stall for whatever reason, and that there is not some big pot hole that causes you to get a flat tire. A lack of gasoline is an informationally plausible reason for you not to proceed to the next point in your path. A big pot hole is an informationally plausible reason for you not to proceed to the next point in your path. You get the idea.

Conventional engines work by providing an informationally plausible reason for the space vehicle to proceed to the next point in its path, at some maximum speed that is limited by the design of the engine. Say that the engine burns hydrazine or whatever and that the design of the engine has a certain thrust which permits a certain acceleration. To exceed the capabilities of the engine is not theoretically possible --that is, it is not informationally possible or plausible-- therefore it is not informationally plausible to advance to the next point in the vehicle's path in a manner inconsistent with the design of the engine and the fuel reserves.

So the solution, obviously, is just to make an engine that creates an informationally plausible link between two points in spacetime. And since spacetime is nothing but information, the effect of the engine is to manipulate information by using information. A spacetime engine is an informational engine, essentially. (All engines are informational engines, even the ones that just burn hydrazine or whatever, but spacetime engines are the first engines ever to have been designed expressly from the understanding that they are to manipulate information. They are the first engines designed from the understanding that the object of an engine is to collapse successive wave functions.)

Spacetime engines must correctly interpret the commands of the vehicle pilot and they must collapse wave functions in as accurate a fashion as possible. The pilot must be capable of maintaining a pure intention, and the engine must correctly implement these commands.

These engines have the capability of annihilating entire universes if they are improperly calibrated. For this reason, particular care is taken to ensure their proper functioning. When these engines are installed or overhauled, an intention is run through them to make sure that they can reproduce it without error. Do you know anything about teletype printers? Those were the old clackety-clack printers that they would use in newsrooms, I suppose, or at military installations. The teletype repairman would get out his little screwdriver and make adjustments to the printer while he ran a paper tape through the printer's punched-paper-tape reader. On this paper tape were successive rows of holes representing the simplest phrase that employed all twenty six letters of the alphabet: "THE QUICK BROWN FOX JUMPS OVER THE LAZY DOGS BACK." So he would run this paper tape again and again and adjust the machine until it slowly made its way in fidelity from "THE W5ICK 8ROHH FOX JUM9 OVER TH4 9KZY DOG4 MAC7" to "THE QUICK BROWN FOX JUMPS OVER THE LAZY DOGS BACK." When the repairman had achieved this correct output, he knew that the printer could accurately reproduce an input.

Spacetime engines are calibrated in much the same way. When placed into test mode by the technician, the engines will reproduce a simple input. This input is an audio representation of intention. The technician can adjust the engines by ear, and he will also use audio analyzers to ensure absolute fidelity with the input. This is what the technician hears as he makes his adjustments:

I will explain more about spacetime engines later.

As this train pulls out of the station at a whole two miles per hour,

I would like to take a moment to share with you where I see us headed. I've been going slow for a few reasons, one of them being that I no longer have the luxury of having internet access at my house. Most importantly, there is a rail switch shortly up ahead and I haven't quite known which spur to take.

But I've made my decision. We're headed somewhere beautiful and nuanced and delicate. I want the upcoming production to be rewarding for everyone. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of losing my own soul with each throat I slit. I'm tired of emerging from the cage like a wild man, with blood stains all over me and my chest heaving.

I will stop verbally abusing you. I have been mistreated by my audience, not a single member of which will even deign to speak to me. They will drain my life force but they will not speak to me. To this day I cannot even determine whether anyone has ever even been reading me. It truly is like I don't exist. It is a crazy-making experience, not existing. But I suppose that is no excuse for verbally abusing an audience that may be hiding in the shadows.

I no longer will live in fantasyland. Fantasy Land for Chris is over. I refuse to try to read into things. I will not watch your shows, I will not read your columns, and I will not seek significance in information. From now on, I respond only to explicitly addressed, explicitly stated communications. Seeing interest where there is none is a recipe for wasted time and effort. I no longer will live inside my own mind, fancying adoring audiences where none exist.

I am still waiting on my agent to call me which will not occur, I am waiting on my TV show which will not occur, and I am waiting on the delivery of a single, wilted flower which will not occur.

I don't understand why no one will speak to me. Forgive me for becoming enraged at your failure. It would seem to be effortless to speak to a person. Talk is cheap.

But whatever. Let's move forward with this rattletrap of a production and see if we can pick up some speed.

Bless your heart, Chris, but no it's not.

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The Live Fix

Morning Fix: The (political) dangers of H1N1

Long lines of people wait for the swine flu vaccine. Photo by Tracy A. Woodward of the Washington Post

President Obama's decision to declare the H1N1 flu a national emergency over the weekend is a recognition of the political peril the virus could inflict on the White House.

...

Given that context, Obama's announcement, which essentially allows hospitals more leeway in the way they deal with the outbreaks, is rightly understood as an attempt to show the American people that the president understands their concern and is ensuring the government is doing everything it can to help.

http://voices.washingtonpost.com/thefix/morning-fix/morning-fix-the-political-dang.html?hpid=topnews

Come sit on my knee, my Little Dream Child. Let me give you a life lesson: When someone volunteers to help you, it's because he wants to steal from you. The government is not your friend. The jurisdiction called United States is completely corrupt, enough key offices within it being occupied by criminals. They have hijacked the levers of power. Why, those criminals even flew planes into the World Trade Center, launched the Great Opium War, looted the public treasury, and dismantled lawful government.

The United States is dead. That its dead-ender officers may speak on a matter has no practical significance.

The H1N1 virus is genetically engineered. How do I know this? I know this by listening to what virologists have to say. I don't remember the particulars --and it doesn't matter since five minutes searching for it on the internet will tell you everything you need to know-- but a virologist can tell whether a virus has mutated and/or recombined naturally or acceleratedly. If the telltale markers on that virus indicate accelerated recombination, that means that the virus was grown in a lab.

And it is also telling that the patent application for the H1N1 vaccine was filed prior to the publicly announced discovery of the virus. Huh. Do we live in an alternate universe where causality is reversed? Because I thought vaccine development efforts came after the discovery of the virus.

The H1N1 vaccine is poison. It is a soft-kill bioweapon. It is meant to harm you. You will recall that we have as science czar or whatever some crosseyed little beast by the name of Holdren who advocates reducing the human population by chemical sterilization and erecting a global government for this purpose.

If you care to examine the matter, you will find that when the World Health Organization raises its threat level or whatever to Level Six, that all sorts of wondrous legal mechanisms become activated. These mechanisms --to which the United States is a party by treaty-- cause authority to flow down from WHO and through the governments of the member states. I would imagine that some legal formality is required of each member state to permit those mechanisms to take on force, and I would imagine that formality to be the declaration of some sort of pandemic emergency.

H1N1 is genetically engineered. Fact. The H1N1 vaccine is poison. Fact.

All this makes no difference anyway since no one I know intends to submit to any H1N1 inoculation. (Once you fly planes into the World Trade Center, people tend to ignore your claims of authority.)

The H1N1 campaign is dead.

Now remember: They don't run on dog shit.

Israel interested in two German war ships

 

Großansicht des Bildes mit der Bildunterschrift: Israel wants to establish a sea-based missile defense system.

Media reports suggest that Israel is considering the purchase of two sophisticated German warships. However, it is unclear who will foot the bill for the multi-million-euro deal.

Israel would like the two warships, worth an estimated 400-500 million euros ($600-750 million), free of charge, the German daily Hannoversche Allgemeine Zeitung said on Friday, citing government sources.

The ships might be supplied by Hamburg's Blohm + Voss shipyard who confirmed an Israeli enquiry to German media without divulging any further details on the potential deal. The ships' weapons would be supplied by the United States.

http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,,4820157,00.html

Just wait six months and they'll have the engine room all shitted up, trying to cram dog shit into the boilers and banging on the missile tubes with bones.

What I don't understand is why American taxpayers would foot the bill for ships and weaponry to benefit cavemen who wave bones at the moon and grunt about how Gentiles are worth less than a Jew's fingernail. (When they're not "documenting the event" and working through civil authority to fry their own subhuman pigs in a Burnt Offering for Moloch, of course.)

Broken Robot + Advanced Weaponry = Disaster Waiting to Happen

Caveman + Zippo Lighter = Conflagration

Is it really wise to deliver weapons to people who believe in magical beings who, by definition, are just out to git 'em? They see enemies everywhere. They're freaks of nature. Theirs is a culture of institutionalized paranoid schizophrenia.

Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo...

Israel is an abortion. Israel is an error. Israel is the single most disgusting nation this world has ever known. The sooner that deformed monster baby is allowed to die in the sun, the better. Let the wolves pick it apart and may decent nations soon be spared the memory that that sickness ever polluted this beautiful world.

That nation is a sickness.

That's still a losing strategy.

NBC stunned the Hollywood community Thursday when Jeff Gaspin, the latest NBC Universal Television Entertainment chairman, announced the network had done an abrupt about-face and would no longer program to profit margins.

"The goal is not to manage for margins. It is to put the best possible programs we can on the air," Gaspin said in Thursday's blockbuster announcement in an interview with Web site the Wrap.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/10/22/AR2009102204314.html

You don't put pearls before swine. Americans are dolts. They're idiots. They're the most stupid, undiscerning people in the world. Don't waste your money trying to elevate their minds.

You want to make money in TV? Pretend you're working a carnival. Your job as a carny is to produce a show at X dollars that will bring in X times some number greater than one. That's how you make money.

You slip in some elevating stuff here and there, but it's pretty much margin-notes stuff. You get their vacant faces to laugh their guts out and while their fat faces are open you shove your message down their gullets.

Your main product is gonna be dick jokes and tit jokes and fart noises.

When are you geniuses going to turn to a, uh, showman, to put on a, uh, show?

At what point did TV executives ever come to believe that they knew anything about shows? About getting rubes into the tent?

Step one to making money: Put on a show that people actually want to see. You've got to compete with all the other tents on the fairway.

Why don't you geniuses wear your suits and eat at your restaurants and celebrate your genius together and let the filthy, toothless carnies worry about the show?

Huh?

Your first step to profitability is to walk to the executive washroom and look in the mirror and admit to yourselves that you wouldn't know the first thing about putting on a show. "I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm a failure. I'm a fraud. Maybe I should just end it all... Wait a minute! I know! I'll let a showman handle the show! Pure genius! Where's my bonus?!"

It's no wonder you can't make any money --you have no idea whatsoever what will play.

Would you like to have the highest ratings of any show in the history of television?

...I know how to do that, you know...

Audiosurf-Metallica master of puppets

You will find CIA and/or Pentagon involvement in the development of this video game:

This death cult speaks to its target population by hiding things in plain sight. These posters were all over the subway stations in New York when I lived there in 2005.

Unless that banker/CIA/defense complex is smashed, your future resembles the inside of hell itself.

Your adversaries worship Lucifer and they will bring nothing but death, disease, and destruction to this beautiful planet.

Their minds have been seized by foreign information, an infection that occurred in a higher dimension. Their brains have been tricked into "coupling" with very dark entities residing there.

You are under assault by informational beings who despise your species and who fully intend to destroy humanity.

It is a run-of-the-mill military operation waged by one race of informational beings upon another. It is occurring in a higher dimension, but its "shadow" is visible in this realm. They operate chiefly by dividing and conquering humanity along racial and religious lines.

You are privileged to live in the present day, as you are witnessing a clash of principalities.

When I saw those posters in 2005, I would just shake my head and cluck to myself, "You're such sillies. Don't you know anything? Ugliness and death don't win; beauty and fart noises do."

No surprise there.

Pentagon used psychological operation on US public, documents show

By Brad Jacobson
Wednesday, October 21st, 2009 -- 10:12 am

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Figure in Bush propaganda operation remains Pentagon spokesman

In Part I of this series, Raw Story revealed that Bryan Whitman, the current deputy assistant secretary of defense for media operations, was an active senior participant in a Bush administration covert Pentagon program that used retired military analysts to generate positive wartime news coverage.

A months-long review of documents and interviews with Pentagon personnel has revealed that the Bush Administration's military analyst program -- aimed at selling the Iraq war to the American people -- operated through a secretive collaboration between the Defense Department's press and community relations offices.

Raw Story has also uncovered evidence that directly ties the activities undertaken in the military analyst program to an official US military document’s definition of psychological operations -- propaganda that is only supposed to be directed toward foreign audiences.

http://rawstory.com/2009/10/bryan-whitman-2/

Are you seeing a pattern here? The Pentagon's got an E-4B command and control aircraft lazily circling the Twin Towers while drones with 747 engines slam into the Towers, we've got weapons-grade nanothermite at Ground Zero, and we've got psychological operations going on in the news media. (You will find it in the entertainment media and in the video game industry, as well.)

Do you see now why I would rather die in a ditch of a burst appendix than suffer the shame of being seen at a veteran's hospital? ...Someone might get the idea that I was military. (So unsavory and dishonorable, you know. It's like being seen with the town rapist.)

The senior officers in the United States Military serve Luciferian, satanic bankers. And they know it.

I always knew there was something fishy about the Pentagon...

 

 

 

Of course not, sillies; nothing was left to chance that day... Why, these Luciferian bankers and their boot-licking military officers even had the cast member playing the role of President display "My Pet Goat." ...upside down...

Get it? They looove hiding things in plain sight. I do admire their sense of humor...

Required Viewing

Oh, no... This one's gonna go right down the pipe...

The bankers who purchased the jurisdiction called United States have dismantled your government and have now made it a vassal state of New World Order. Over the next decade, these Luciferian and Satanist bankers --which Luciferian sickness derives from various expressions of Set-worship, both Jewish and Gentile-- will begin exterminating eighty percent of the human population.

I have a very strong suspicion that most American Jews will be exterminated at some point over the next ten to twenty years. There is a religious imperative among Satanic, cabalist rabbis to remove from this earth all Jews who reject the authority of the Talmud. The continued existence of a Talmud-rejecting Jew is regarded as the highest insult to the god of idolatrous Jews. These rabbis will work through civil authority to arrange for the extermination of the am ha'aretz. It will be their final human sacrifice.

A global government is the government of Luciferian, illuminati, cabalist bankers. Its one goal is death.

But be that as it may. Enjoy the movie...

Okay. This is what I see for my show that Jon Stewart is going to give me.

I'm seeing someth--

"--Chris, you're not getting a show."

Oh yes I am too, now stop it. Just bend to my will. Where me will me way. So anyhow, what I'm seeing--

"--I said no. I would never hear the end of it from my people."

But I've already plainly stated that they're the most fantastic people in the world and I'm just soooo going to lick their feet and serve them as their apostate slave! They're the best! Haven't you been paying attention? I've been extremely deferential, in case you haven't noticed. ...So listen: Let's start with a thirty-minute pilot of some kind. I don't know what it'll be about. You and I can figure that out. I'm generally gravitating to a newsy-comedio thing with a conspiratorial tip. It's got to be topical because it's got to be DVR-proof. And we'll make it kind of wacky and conspiratorial because I have no desire to work your side of the street. I'm seeing some kind of cross between newsy and improv. Some kind of cross between you and Stephen, actually.

And this is the promo for it:

I'm lying down on the floor, facing the camera at floor level, and I'm playing with dolls. I'm dressed casually and my suede skate shoes ply the air behind me. Dialogue between the two naked, scuffed-up dolls goes something like this: "We're gonna go to the mooon! Moon, I say! Even though we don't remotely have the technology to do it! Then we'll really be Number One!" "That's right! And then the terriss will hate us 'cause we're just soooo the best!" "Yeah, and then since we're all so free, we can all give a semen sample at the airport!" "Not just free!; The best! Don't forget!"

At this point, Jon interrupts me as he kneels into the shot, left-side. He's dressed in his suit for his TV show. "--Uh, Chris, what are you doing?"

"Oh, hi, Daddy. I'm just playing..."

Stephen kneels into the shot, at the right, wearing his suit. He looks dejected. "Well if he's your daddy, who am I?"

"You're my mommy! And you two made me when you were wrestling in Daddy's office that one time."

Jon cocks his head and a look of realization comes over his face. "...Engine Number One and Engine Number Two..."

Stephen continues the thread: "...The Child is the product of their union..."

Jon: "...And three and four mark the door..."

Chris: "Mm hm: It must be so..."

.

So let's go. Have my agent contact me soon at the gas station. Rockingham Shell. It's in the book. I work from 2pm to 8pm Mon-Sat.

Let's get this show on the road.

I saw a nice, little piece in the New York Times the other day about the exploits of Balloon Boy.

The point of the article was that one might have predicted that there was no 40-pound boy in that balloon because the balloon would have lacked sufficient lift, especially at the rarefied elevation of Denver or wherever it was. Everyone could have saved themselves the trouble of agonizing over the poor boy just by breaking out a calculator.

I am pleased to see a resurgence of reason in this nation.

I've been doing some calculations based on NASA's own numbers regarding the Apollo program. For example, NASA states quite plainly that the air-conditioning capacity in the lander was sized only to provide cooling for the on-board electrical and electronic systems.

Y'ever leave a piece of metal out in the noonday sun? What happens to it? It warms up, just like the lander would have. That heat has to be gotten rid of somehow if you expect to maintain a liveable environment inside for the astronauts.

Batteries dying! Can't. explain! Real quick: I am one inch from declaring that the Apollo program did not put men on the moon.

...none that didn't get cooked alive, that is...

I heartily agree, Daddy.

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'Reality' stunts don't fly in the real world

Falcon Heene, 6, and his mother, Mayumi, outside their Colorado home. (David Zalubowski/associated Press)

By Eugene Robinson

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Now we know the answer to one of the vexing questions of the modern age: Evidently, there is nothing at all that some people won't do to get on television.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/10/19/AR2009101902516.html

I don't really have a comment. I just wanted to say hi.

Wouldn't it be cool if we lived like right next door to each other? You could help me fix the washer or whatever if it breaks. And you could give me a bath and brush my hair. We could watch movies together.

Wouldn't that be fun?

Sure thing. Can do.

1. Gemini (5/21-6/21)

   No matter how tempting it might be to make one last, strong push toward the finish line, try not to force things any further today. You're right where you need to be right now, no matter how impatient you may be to get to the next level. Not everyone is on the same timetable as you, and you need to be mindful of that fact. Wait for your partners to catch up to where you are. Once everyone is ready to take the next step together, the path will be clear and easy.

--Yahoo horoscope for the day.

Translated, this means: "Jon Stewart is going to have a limo pick you up at the gas station and there's going to be balloons and flowers and everything. Your private driver will whisk you away to your new Midtown Manhattan penthouse where fat guys with cigars will clap you on the back as you sign a contract in your unknowing, rube way. Photographers will pop their flashbulbs and your droopy-eyed face will be splashed all over your new hometown of New York. You will rocket to the top, fall in with a bad crowd, start doing horse and crank, and plummet right back down to your life of obscurity at the gas station. What a ride it'll be. But just hold on for a while; not everyone is on your timetable."

Hey, Colbert...

I see you've been off your game recently. Why is that?

...Oh, wait; I know: I haven't been posting much recently.

Everyone gets it, Love.

Now go ahead and get this, too:

 

It is a collection of Furbeys. You may find it on ebay: http://cgi.ebay.com/Huge-Furby-Collection_W0QQitemZ190341923143QQcmdZViewItemQQptZLH_DefaultDomain_0?hash=item2c51434147

It's going for $49.99 right now.

I like Furbeys --I mean, I kind of like them; when I'm done reprogramming their EPROMS and stripping them of their fur and making demon robots out of them I'll probably just get bored and throw them out.

But go ahead and buy it anyway. Walk to the writer's room and take up a collection.

...And I'm still waitin' on the internet access...

Now. To those whom I contacted at the Washington Post, the New York Times, and Comedy Central,

you may rest easy. What was the nature of my communications to you? It was strictly of a professional nature, having to do with my comedy career.

It is now public knowledge that the Attorney General and I are actively working together in a domestic terror cell. Mister Holder assured me, in person, during his visit to my house in June of this year, that he sought to blow up as many things as possible. I tried telling him that people may not take me seriously since I work in comedy, but he insisted that we form a terror cell. That conversation did occur, he did try to involve me in acts of domestic terrorism, he insisted on joining Up with Terror, and all this is something to which I will gladly testify in any court. This is real. Repeat, THIS IS REAL.

So if you have received a personal communication from me, you have nothing to worry about. My terrorism activities are exclusively limited to the three other members of Up with Terror: Barack Obama, Eric Holder, and Janet Napolitano. I personally spoke with Eric Holder, and he assured me that Mister Obama and Miss Napolitano were on board with aspirations of terror.

Attorney General Holder.

Your Department of Justice mail server now contains legally admissible evidence of your involvement with Up with Terror. I demand that you place yourself on the terror watch list. And I am going to blow everyone else's cover by personally emailing all members of Congress and all Supreme Court Justices to announce that their applications to join my terror cell have been approved.

Do you remember what you said to me when you traveled to my house to meet with me earlier this year? You said --and I quote-- "Chris, I want you to work with me in bombing some buildings and otherwise doing things that meet the legal definition of terrorism. But make sure you don't tell anyone about this meeting because I'll just deny it."

Well, sir, I've beaten you to the punch. Your cover is blown. We are partners in terror, you and I. I will swear to that in any court.

Isn't it all so ridiculous? The terror thing? We're all here in my theater, in the back room of this shit hole bar. We're all enjoying each other's company. We're in this together. Through thick and thin. We have fights and there's some bawling going on, but we all come back day after day.

We may fight and we may call each other names and storm off, but we respect one another. We remember the sign tacked up by the door: "I am why Chris gets up in the morning." And this is a no bullshit zone.

I need you to cut the bullshit. Or whoever. But I need whoever it is to get out of the way of my comedy career.

I don't know what the sticking point here is. No one will speak to me, and I suspect that is because I'm on someone's cockamamie terror list. And since no one will speak to me, I can't work. And no one will buy their tickets. It's a no-win situation for me. I have gone broke working for my audience. I am a forty-two-year-old man with nothing.

Do I deserve to be in a no-win situation? Did I plant a 747 engine on Murray street? Did I contract with Negev or Indian Head or Lawrence Livermore for nanothermite? Did I create molybdenum-rich microspheres at Ground Zero?

You are well aware that there was a domestic criminal conspiracy involved in 9-11. You are well aware that all roads lead to the Pentagon, Mossad, and the CIA. I have proven this to you.

Will you perform your function and investigate that conspiracy? Of course not. You're afraid you'll get whacked by black elements of the CIA.

I tangle with the CIA and Mossad every day. It can be done. They have their weaknesses. I have my strengths. It is extremely tactically difficult to engage a comedian. Why do you think I settled on stand-up? I had two choices: blow up buildings and overturn cop cars and blow people's brains out or ridicule the piss out of everything in sight. The pen is mightier than the sword.

I am doing your job, Mister Holder. I am defending lawful United States government from those who attacked us on 9-11. I have done more to confound the aims of those who attacked us than the entire, fraudulent, dishonorable military. I'm only a national hero, a hero with a Glock and a few jokes.

Do I deserve the treatment I have received?

If you have any sense of right and wrong, Mister Holder, I want you to stop obstructing the advancement of my career. What cause would you have to punish me?

Let a man work in his field, especially a man who performs your very own job in addition to his own.

I want any and all legal obstructions to my professional advancement to disappear immediately.

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