The stage photos, the rubble series, the beer series, and the holding-eyeglasses series are courtesy of Gregg Matthews, Orlando. All others by Chris King.
Clicking the thumbnail will show a 300dpi version.
Generally, the staged photos were taken in the olden days, around 2004. I have not aged at all, so you may regard these to be an accurate representation of what my big fat pot belly does not look like.
When the Government Man decides to stab his fat, dirty fingers at things and initiate non-linearity, you may use these in your newspaper or on your TV show if you like.
I am arranging for allied military elements to arrest the Attorney General of the United States for the capital crime of aiding and abetting 9-11 criminals.
Please come up with the proper legal procedures for his trial and execution.
I was at the liquidation store this morning to get some paper towels and cat food. I found an inexpensive, student's violin. It was in the original box with all the parts and everything. It's brand-new and in excellent shape.
I know that my priorities are completely upside-down from polite society's. My house has been foreclosed on but yet I'm buying a violin. It's just my M.O. It is what I attribute my success in life to. It's just my style.
I need a new hobby. The stand-up was embarassingly easy and ultimately too boring to continue with, so I guess I'll learn violin now.
You've done well for me. Here: I've brought you a deer. ...Feed... ...Feed, my lovelies, feed...
Please inform the State of New Hampshire of my right to travel. I have never had a problem with New Hampshire; of the various states, their behavior lives up to the press kit: "Live free or die." I have business to conduct in New Hampshire occasionally. I don't want any misunderstandings.
I want you to hone your standard right-to-travel materials so that they are applicable for serving to any jurisdiction. My goal is to provide right-to-travel support to any American who may seek the protection of United Sovereigns of America. (When jurisdictions collapse, as the United States and the several states have, it is advantageous to the security of a free people to erect replacement political structures. It just provides for a smooth transition from the old to the new. You're witnessing one of the most historic developments in American history. You know that, right?) Though USov is a jurisdiction and its members not subject to any law of any jurisdiction for which an accession has not been granted by USov, I want you to argue the driver's license and registration issue strictly on a right-to-travel basis. That is, do not argue the panarchic political union angle. The State will not understand it. Most people cannot see past the nose on their own face and will not recognize the value of a nascent political union until they're in the death camps, looking out from behind barbed wire, wishing that they, too, could be protected by another jurisdiction.
I am still waiting for a letter from the State of Vermont that I may furnish to any State law enforcement officer who may erroneously attempt to tow that vehicle. Please have the State deliver the letter to my home by special delivery only.
I wanted to be a lawyer at one time, you know. Back around 2003, I decided that I wanted to go to law school. But I saw that I couldn't go to law school without having an undergraduate degree in basket weaving or film appreciation. And I couldn't get that without going to Seminole Community College to take some lower-level classes to fill holes in my academic record, classes like how your supposed to write good and how you should of used a gerund instead of a participle or whatever. The class had me in it and some skater kid and an old man and a woman who didn't speak English. You will recall that after a few weeks of this, I stood up in exasperation, pulled out a thirty-eight, blew my brains out all over the white board, and stormed off, never to return, my dreams of being a trial attorney dashed.
You work at some kind of law school, don't you? Is it any good? I mean, does it come highly recommended? Do you have some stupid old rule that I have to have a retard degree from retard school before I can go there?
You got some pull over there, don't you? Hey listen: Get me in on a scholarship, okay? Just have them waive the degree requirements and the tuition, alright?
Please be advised that I do not like classes and I likely will not attend them. Just tell me what books to read and I'll read them. No sense listening to some law professor drone on and on when I can just read it out of a book. And I do not like written tests. Please see that I not be required to take any. If my professors wish to check on my progress, they can arrange a meeting with me and we'll stroll together across the school grounds and smoke pipes and I shall propound upon my conception of how the legal profession should be and then I will be granted my law degree.
Also be advised that I will likely always be on academic probation for one matter or another. Don't worry, the school adminstration will get over it. They always do.
Seriously: I'm bored and I would like to go to law school.
You're one of my favorites around here. You are what makes me proud to be a Vermonter.
What was it that Cal said?
I love Vermont because of her hills and valleys, her scenery and invigorating climate, but most of all because of her indomitable people. They are a race of pioneers who have almost beggared themselves to serve others. If the spirit of liberty should vanish in other parts of the Union, and support of our institutions should languish, it could all be replenished from the generous store held by the people of this brave little state of Vermont.
I aspire to that ideal every day. It's even on the press kit at the Vermont Welcome Center.
I was thinking about torching my house. Wouldn't that be funny?
"Chris, I don't think that would be such a bright idea."
Yes, well, as you will learn in this business, my young charge, what is funny and what is a bright idea are often two completely different things. You will always err on the side of funny.
And I would ask the local newspapers to use that very word in the headline, "torch." It's a funny word. Certain words are just inherently funny. Like "underpants." Or "torch." "Local Man Torches House in Last Act of Defiance."
It's funny that I have adequate held-up ticket receipts to pay that house off several times over. But because I'm a terriss, there is some legal obstacle to my being able to collect my ticket receipts. One act of illegality deserves another, right? My legally imposed penury has its consequences, right? So let's not have any tears when that house goes up in flames.
In preparation for my grand entrance back into the driving public, I washed and waxed the car. I detailed it, inside and out. It looks like a brand-new car, I'll tell you that. And it's a 2003. I generally like to take good care of cars.
I found my satellite radio receiver in the glove box. I remembered that I had bought it at the liquidation store four years ago. I called the 800 number for the radio company and paid the subscription and activated it. I worked great for two months. Then I got Wonderboy. He was just a little kitten at the time. I had the car parked in the driveway, the doors open. I think I was vacuuming the rugs. Wonderboy was in the car scampering around like a little troublemaker. And he jumped out of the car and got his leg tangled in the wires for the receiver and pulled it off the dashboard and right out of the car and onto the pavement. He immediately broke it. Bless his heart, his first official act was to immediately destroy my radio receiver like a little vandal, just like Daddy would. Why vandalism?
So anyway, I found it yesterday and decided to investigate the damage, which was a flaky power connector --when you plugged the power wire into it, the slightest jiggle would cause the receiver to turn off. Well, I opened it up yesterday and --just as I suspected-- there was a broken solder connection inside for the power connector. So being the ace electronics technician that I am, I soldered it good as new.
Now here's the cool part: I hooked the receiver back up and I found that it was still authorized! It's been years since I used it (and the credit card used to pay for the subscription has long since been closed) but for some reason it still works! I get all the channels!
(No one rat me out. Complimentary satellite radio is Small Pleasure No. 3 in this suck-ass world.)
I'm not actually a misanthrope, you know. I am the eternal optimist. I refuse to be beaten down. I will not permit that light in my heart to be snuffed out. But it's hard sometimes. I ask your forbearance if I occasionally lobby for the complete nuclear annihilation of that entire, misfiring species of yours.
Please convey my sincerest apologies to the Attorney General if my saucy language discomfited him. To be fair, I cannot know if he was involved in Taylor and Cody's Excellent Adventures. There's a light at the end of the tunnel for him; he'll wind up on the Shop-Tested Bad Asses board. He'll get a salute eventually.
I have a friend in Orlando who is ill and who may die. I have deliberately avoided calling and emailing, for fear of making him a terriss. He probably thinks I don't like him. Here's the quandary: If I don't call him (for fear of getting him in trouble with that abortion jurisdiction you work for,) maybe that will negatively impact his health, as he will think that no one cares. But if I do call him, will he be a terriss now? Will he be on the no-fly list? And if he gets put on the no-fly list, how will he travel for treatments?
If I contact my friend, will I really be killing him? But if I don't contact him, will I be killing him in a different way? Do you see why I absolutely hate secret laws and the lack of due process and the sickness jurisdictions that make it legally impossible for a person to notify a terriss that he's a terriss?
Am I terriss? Is that why no one may speak to me? How do I conduct myself without harming others? But how do I maintain social contacts? How do I win?
I see that the folks over at FBI managed to pin The Great American Anthrax Caper on a dead man whose defense attorneys can't pick apart the government's case like a bad crochet job. By the FBI's own timeline, Ivins could not have possibly been at the mailbox(es) in question in time for the last pickup for the day, making any presumed letters of his get postmarked a day too late.
Do you remember Officer Fat Ass? He's the guy who immediately informs the townpeople upon learning of a federal investigation. When the feds come to town and let him in on a secret, it must be something big! Well it's something big, alright, but not quite what he thinks. No, silly, it's not about that, it's about certain someones possessing a weapon that destroys entire governments. One little wave and --boop!-- whatever it touches just disappears. It's like a magic wand. It's a fairy wand.
How much did the feds spend over five years investigating what ultimately turns out, years ago, to be clumsy clicking and inadvertant email address-submission?
Word to the wise: If you happen upon a big wooden crate in the woods, a crate with a parachute attached to it, with the stenciled word COCAINE spray-painted on the side, do yourself a favor: Don't take any of that cocaine. It's obviously come down at the wrong drop point. Someone WILL come looking for it.
Isn't it funny how my life is over and no one ever even bought a ticket to my show?
...'cause I'm driving my car around town again, just like I said I would, now that our collective cooling-off period has elapsed.
Again, this is what happens when we fly planes into buildings and then start torturing people in gulag hellholes and wiretapping our political enemies and generally ignoring the law.
I held a seance last night and conjured the spirit of Ethan Allen. I asked him what he would do. He said, "You mean everyone in state government is just standing around and whistling like nothing's wrong and sending our Green Mountain Boys off to have their brains blown out by IEDs while they stand guard over our banker masters' poppy fields?! I'd demand some natural rights clawback! Good on you, boy!"
My car is right out in front of the library at this very moment if you want it. Don't lie in wait until I start driving home so that you can pop me and arrest me. Have some class. You want it, you come get it right now. I'll be here for at least an hour.
I've decided that it serves no rational function. I can't even get anyone to speak to me, so it's a bit like putting the cart before the horse.
I could have ten people in my audience or a hundred thousand. I can't know that because no one has ever even acknowledged my existence over the past five years. People on TV talk to me but yet I can't understand how they might have come to hear of me, much less can I determine why they might be speaking to me.
This is a crazy-making experience and I simply refuse to work under these conditions. This is the part where I defy my creator.
"Careful. I will not be tested."
I will not be abused. And who needs whom here?
This stand-up slash performance piece slash magic show --whatever it is I'm doing here-- is now over.
I do not have a moral claim to working in television or film. I do, however, have a moral claim to my ticket receipts. Failing that, I would have been happy to lose every last thing I had in exchange for a simple acknowledgment of my existence.
I do not exist. How could I possibly speak to you?
I can't believe I wasted six years of my life on this asinine pursuit called comedy. It was always a goof, a lark. It was nothing. And now it's feeling very played out to me.
You know where to find me if you're interested.
Remember: I have deliberately lied to you sufficient times over the years so that you can't get a lock on who I am. We are not friends. You can't be friends with a character. You've been watching a live movie and you always have. Don't be stupid.
This is now terminated.
...because I know he is not here after I explicitly ejected his ass.
Mister Holder, I'm sensing that you want to cry.
Do you see the two Walls of Fame that I have up here on stage? I've got one to my left and one to my right. They're on roll-around casters, and pretty showgirls with big tits roll them out for segments just such as this.
They've got those light-bulb marquees around them and the lightbulbs flash and draw everyone's attention to the Polaroid photos contained thereon.
The Walls of Fame are labeled. One says:
(Do not mess with these people.)
Before I continue, let me back up and explain a reference. When I was a boy, my father owned a hardware store in town. I worked there from the age I first learned to operate a broom.
Under the cash register, behind the checkout counter, there was a big cardboard box with all sorts of tools in it: hammers, wrenches, pliers, everything. If a customer wheeled a lawnmower into the store and needed a part removed so that we could install a new air filter or whatever, we would fish around in the box and get the right wrench.
But sometimes we couldn't find the right tool. So we'd take a new wrench off the shelf and use that one. When we were done, we'd put it back on the shelf again. --as "used," with a discount, you ask? No, of course not, silly! It wasn't "used;" it was "shop tested!"
If you can't fix it, feature it, as the real estate agents say.
But back to our Walls of Fame. The Shop-Tested Bad Asses are people who somehow managed to take every last punch to the face and just stand there. People like George Bush and Michael Mukasey and Alberto Gonzalez. You know, all the Republicans who've passed through these hallowed halls. And ADL Chicago is on there, too. They're all pissers. You mess with the Shop-Tested Bad Asses at your own peril.
But we have another board, one for the pushovers who anyone can safely walk all over. That board is labeled:
They cry and go peepee like babies
if you look at them crosseyed.
That list so far has only ADL New York on it. They fell down and cried when I dragged my balls all over their bagels. They need to take a page from the Chicago playbook and spit nails.
So the question to you, Mister Attorney General, is: are you going to go peepee like a little baby and start crying and grind your fists into your eyes? Can we take a Polaroid photo of you so that everyone knows you're just like a little peepee baby?
Hey: I just thought up a new joke. Want to hear it? It goes like this: "How come Democrats can't seem to win re-election? ... ... It's because whenever a Republican drives his fist into a Democrat's face, the Democrat goes peepee in his didies and starts to cry. And the tears make it so the Democrat can't even see to fill out the papers that he has to file with the elections commission!" Hahaha. Isn't it funny? Should I include it in my routine?
The town of Derby Line, Vermont, may be one of the most unusual places in North America. Running right through it is the Canadian border, on the other side of which is the village of Rock Island, Quebec.
Derby Line village trustee Buzz Roy was recently arrested and fined $500 for crossing the street by foot to grab a pizza on the Canadian side.
Roy says he's been crossing the border in his home town for years without a problem, but one Saturday night last month, when he crossed the street into Canada, a Vermont state trooper noticed him, and notified the border patrol. They arrested Roy for crossing the border illegally.
"Steam was coming out of my ears from the treatment by the state cop. I felt that he had been misinformed about my ability to enter the country on Church Street. I've done it my entire life many many many times," Roy told WPTZ in Burlington.
Governments come and go. They are as ephemeral as the wind. The people, however, remain as always.
When governments go bad --say, by flying planes into buildings or tasing people for talking or raping children in torture chambers in front of their parents as a means of extracting information about their theoretically impossible participation in the aforementioned drone-flying, or by criminalizing generations-old behavior, those governments announce that they are ripe for the ignoring. The people then create new political structures to defend their way of life. As a matter of fact, any decent person is morally obligated to ignore the corrupt government.
At that point, any dead-enders in the old "government" get shown the door. They get informed that the old political structure no longer exists.
If they continue prattling on about being the government, the people kneel them down and execute them.
It is a time-honored American tradition. It's cool. Just ask Ethan Allen.
I want all you little perverts in the news media out of my internet traffic. Do I watch you fuck your wife? If you are not willing to service my cock or give me a handjob, you have no business in my private sex habits.
You are not to concern yourselves with my internet communications. Do you understand me? I can't even hold a private conversation with an autistic boy about astral projection without having it become a topic of conversation on your message board or whatever you use to talk about me behind my back. (I see everything. You can't fool me.)
I have known for several years that the National Terriss Dot-Connecting Room was sharing my traffic with the news media.
That is now over.
Shortly after Agent Saunders threatened my life with his shooting-gun motion, he gave me a piece of paper to sign. He mentioned something about "medical release."
Even though I was too flustered to know what it was, I thought it best to sign it.
Please inform the Secret Service that no such document exists.
And Agent Saunders' ready relinquishing of the original will go far in convincing my well-trained and jealously loyal military fellows that his threat was all just a friendly misunderstanding.
I am going to buy another computer soon. Can you guess what will be the very first thing I do when I get it home?
"Uh, you're going to stroke your cock?"
Yup. I'm gonna get my pants down like they're on fire and then I'll lube up my dick and look at some none-too-crazy, run-of-the-mill fuckin' and suckin' and cock shots and hairy pussies in the air and lovingly stroke my cock for an hour until my eyeballs fall out of my head. I'm gonna buck my hips and launch a nice, two-, three-contraction load right onto my chest. Maybe I'll even eat my own cum. Is that okay with you?
"I- I guess so."
See, when I say that I have never in my entire life ever put the moves on someone, that's exactly what I mean. I wouldn't even know how to go about it. Whenever I've tried to have sex with someone, it just came off as clumsy and weird. So I beat my cock whenever I feel in the mood to have sex. That's my sex life. It always has been. And since I am not in the habit of looking at the wall as I pound my dick, I'm going to look at some porn. Is that okay with you?
Now, some may take issue with Entity Doorman stroking his cock but, see, I'm the one here with the user's manual for that role. I assure you that there are many requirements of the position, but I see nothing in here about being chaste. So if I decide that I need to be chaste in my life, I'll let my detractors know.
Now: If during my tours through the redlight district on the internet I happen to accidentally run across some picture of some sixteen-year-old jacking his fat dick in front of his webcam, I'm not going to get too worked up over it. It's not my thing, but I'm not going to shriek in horror and cover my eyes as if I'm going to turn into a pillar of fuckin' salt. It's not the end of the world.
So is it quite alright with you if I pound my cock to within an inch of its life without you using your extra-special terriss-fightin' tools to snoop through my computer? Do you think you can stop it with what I have now determined to be man-in-the-middle attacks? Can you have Taylor and Cody run right along back to the XBox competition and let a man beat his meat in peace?
I want you to collect your things and aaalllll your legal papers and roll it all up and shove it up your ass.
When I get my TV show, if I have some guest on and we're talking about our wives and families, I'll pull out my wallet and all my photos will accordion-out like playing cards strung together. I'll say, "Would you like to see my loved ones? This is Wonderboy, my cat. What a scamp he is... ...And this is my darling, departed Granmama... ...Oh! And here's my human cunt! He's my lover. He's demonstrated such an interest in my sex life that he now sucks my cock whenever I want it. Did you ever know a comedian with an Attorney General for a human cunt? My human cunt's name is Attorney General Eric Holder."
Collect your shit and get the fuck out of my theater. Post yourself at the door and buttonhole anyone to whom you may have sullied my reputation. You will state the following, verbatim:
Wow. I have no idea why anyone would even listen to me. The FBI orchestrated the Oklahoma City Bombing. Publicly known fact. Not in dispute. And the FBI orchestrated the '93 World Trade Center Bombing. Publicly known fact. Not in dispute. And I absolutely guarantee you that Chris will find that the FBI was involved in 9-11. Compared to the criminals in the Justice Department, Chris is a paragon of fuckin' virtue!
My jaw is tired and I no longer want to be Chris' human cunt. So we all sat around the conference table at the Justice Department and gave a solemn thumbs-up and made a high-level decision that it's officially okay for Chris to pound his cock in peace.
This letdown of a Justice Department showing at the Great American Compressor Fight is obviously now over. It goes right into my pretty little locket of trophies.
After laying the groundwork for a decisive vote this week on the Senate's health-care bill, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi suggested Monday that she might attempt to pass the measure without having members vote on it.
Instead, Pelosi (D-Calif.) would rely on a procedural sleight of hand: The House would vote on a more popular package of fixes to the Senate bill; under the House rule for that vote, passage would signify that lawmakers "deem" the health-care bill to be passed.
The tactic -- known as a "self-executing rule" or a "deem and pass" -- has been commonly used, although never to pass legislation as momentous as the $875 billion health-care bill. It is one of three options that Pelosi said she is considering for a late-week House vote, but she added that she prefers it because it would politically protect lawmakers who are reluctant to publicly support the measure.
I deem that everyone in Washington shut their faces for once.
If you have not already done so, serve Senators Lieberman and McCain with that compressor info. Explain that there has been an error with 9-11 and that a domestic crime has occurred. Obviously, then, sponsoring a bill that provides for the executive's power to arrest and torture United States citizens with no due process cannot possibly be useful and, indeed, would seem to be evidence of collusion with 9-11 criminals who wish to use the power of government to prevent their own arrests.
That collusion is a capital crime.
Get our legal ducks in a row.
Draw up plans to remove the Attorney General of the United States from office under force of arms, to be tried for the capital crime of aiding and abetting 9-11 criminals.
Get your logistical ducks in a row.