Boot Hill Jihad and the Hangman’s Noose
26 August 2002
Imagine Truth to be a precious princess, surrounded by bodyguards of Lies. She is suffering from teen-age angst, feeling cock-hungry and arrogant in her white gowns. The thought-police are watching and investigating, waiting for the right moment to strike back. History is ‘lies agreed upon by the victors.’ Doublethink is the national anthem. Our anti-heroic outlaw is a real estate agent dealing in intellectual properties. What is humanity going to do when God wakes up, one day, and decides to be an atheist?
If Anybody had taken a moment to investigate the murder of Nobody, Somebody would have realized that Anybody could be a suspect in this crime of passion. Of course, Somebody grew paranoid and began looking over their shoulder for Anybody to sneak up on them. Nobody takes an ungrateful nap in the city morgue. The murder weapon turns up in a bridal gown, in a gunshop, in the back of a pawnshop. Anybody’s fingerprints were all over the weapon of mass destruction. Define the hypocrisy of why Americans has bombs, but no one else is allowed pharmaceuticals. Somebody has come between Nobody and Anybody.
“Be my friend, or I will scare you.”
“You are not only a political bully, but also emotionally incorrect. You have a severe case of mindmadness.”
“You can make up all the stories that you want, and name our daughters Jenin, you princess-queen of the pathological liar.”
“Welcome to Cold Facts Avenue,” she says. “My pimp is Mister Crack.”
“To be a pimp, you have to be a burglar of psychology,” he says. “You have to break into a bitch’s head and steal her mind. It’s a damn shame, but sometimes you just have to trunk a bitch.”
“The overt commodification of sex is less disturbing to the courts than the covert sexualization of art,” says the Whore. “The collective fictionalizing of individual identity creates a kind of carnival of passion, a festive space, at once, real and imaginary. I am just another prop in the masquerade.”
“Fiction is not an easy way out of anything. Violence is in the mind of the actor. It may not be assumed from the broken glass.”
The execution of the Death Row Kitten is complete. Thieves of identity have kidnapped Truth from her protectors, holding her hostage for a large ransom. Her virginity is a political agenda of property. Intoxicated by passion, she markets herself as a compassionate person, full of hope and love. Her bodyguards of lies protected her for as long as the sedatives were in place, but once that she was out on her own, there was little that could be done to protect the world from her evil experiments. She becomes a Playboy bunny, a playmate in the sexual playground, a pawn in the institution of beauty. Continuing to be emotionally impotent is her job, her name, and her very identity.
“I am paving the Internet Superhighway with my pussy,” she says. “I am going to turn your name over to every information gathering agency in my Rolodex, you evil bastard!”
“It was back in ‘02, when the times were hard, Stagger Lee.”
The screaming coming from your room was a bit unnerving, to say the least. We were worried that maybe you had killed someone in there.
