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Well, after two years of serious illnesses, my great-uncle Bill has passed away.

Uncle Bill was a 5'5" giant of a man, who wasn't afraid of anything, and never - to my knowledge - ever made a shitty compromise in his whole life.  He spent his youth destroying Nazis in Africa and Europe, including the horrible Falaise Pocket battle, in which his artillery unit spent a night in a circular formation, direct-firing their 25 pounders into hordes of Germans, to keep them from escaping.

When I was a kid, he would only tell me that he was a cook.  He didn't tell me the whole story until I had enlisted in the infantry...He knew that war is blood and shit and death, not the lie they call "glory", and he didn't want to put ideas in my head, until after I had failed to heed his advice, and the advice of his brothers (ie, don't go in the military).

He later told me about the men he fought with, and he also explained that the Nazis actually won WWII...just not the German Nazis.  He was referring to people like Curtiss Lemay and "Tailgunner Joe" McCarthy and Ronald Reagan (he offered some Canadian names, too, like Big Joe Clark and his bunch, but most people in the states have never heard of them).  People who slithered into power while we weren't looking.

When I last saw him in person, about a year ago, he was having a chuckle at what America is doing to itself these days, and I asked him what he thought should be done about it.

"First you tell them 'No'", he said, "Then if they keep doing it, you make them hurt really bad, and repeat your answer."

I firmly believe that if he'd been here, and maybe a little younger, he'd have been doing just that.  He wasn't afraid of police (He and his brothers had the scars and the police records to prove it), and he wasn't afraid of what they could do to him. 

We used to have people like that, and if you make the mistake of reading what those people had to say, you'll spend the next year seething with hatred at the complacent shits all around you...and maybe even at yourself, because you know what's going on, and still you do nothing.

No, his kind are a vanishing breed, and I have this weird feeling that when they're gone, the Nazis will be back.  They may not wear black uniforms (maybe), but they're Nazis all the same.  Nazis don't ever actually leave, they just wait in the wings until the hard men and women are all gone.  It happened in Germany in the 1920s, and it's going to happen here, mark my words.

So goodbye, Bill, you ornery old son of a bitch, and I hope that you're now giving God a red ass about the state of affairs in heaven.  We'll try to muddle along here without you, and I hope you get a good laugh about it all.

- Dok

You know, Jim, if you don't find some way to secure yourself, you'll drift off like a derelict ship.  It's true...The currents are strong, these days, and the rocks are never very far away.  They're all covered in the wreckage of those whose anchor lines snapped, and they're so soaked in blood that the beachcombers have forgotten what it smells like.

Of course, there are various ways to secure yourself, which I'd like to briefly detail. 

1.  Anchors.  These are the people and things that keep you steady.  Maybe it's your wife or your kids, or maybe it's your job or your studies. 

2.  Shackles.  These are the things that keep you stationary in an undesirable way...the things that hold you back.  Maybe they're that friend who drags you down with him, or perhaps a job you hate but can't leave.  They still keep you off those rocks, but in a way that make the rocks look more attractive every day.

3.  Tethers.  These are like anchors, but you are also anchoring them.  This may be a friend who helps you, and receives help back, or maybe it's a devoted spouse that sticks with you, and gets back everything they give.

Note that many people or things may be in more than one catagory.  Take my case, for example...My daughter is both a shackle and a tether.  Her schooling requires that I stay in a city that I loathe, but she also looks after her old man, and of course I'd do anything for her.  Maria is both an anchor and a tether, because most of the time, she's holding my head above water, but on the few occasions she's needed me, I've been there.  Nurse Mayhem is definitely a tether, because she and I spend an awful lot of time laughing (much of which is directed at a shackle she happens to have).

My problem is that I'm running awfully low on securing devices of all kinds.  There's Keelin, Maria, and Nurse Mayhem, and that's currently about it.  Three points of contact aren't a whole lot, in fact they're the bare minimum, and you can believe me when I say that no matter how strong you are, you can't find your way without being able to see where you're going.  Without those anchors, you'll drift off into places I'd rather not describe...you may do that anyway...I know I have, but I've had those three lifelines to help me find my way back out of the nightmares and paranoia that lurk around in my skull.

I seem to remember having more, once upon a time...a friendship that went sour (the person is still my friend, but more in an acquaintance type of way) because I was a shackle to that person rather than a tether...Other friends that moved away, or died, or said things in a moment of anger that wound you so badly that you can't ever look at them the same way.  One major anchor chain snapped the other night, when my great uncle Bill died.  I'll be writing a separate piece about him, because he rates it.

Obviously the thing to do is to gain more anchors and tethers.  Pick myself up and start rebuilding my life, and maybe spend a bit more time being a tether and a little less time being a shackle.

Well, that went a little longer than I intended, Jim, but time is short, and I wanted to get that out in the open.

Okay for now,
Dok Howl

Far be it from me to get between you and your chemical gratification.  As one who spends a significant amount of time figuring out new and interesting ways to abuse myself - with everything from synthetic valium to finding ways to actually get all fucked up on plain old caffiene - let me be the first to say, "Whatever turns you on".

However, I DO have a gripe with people who insist that substance abuse connects you to a higher plane, or makes you telepathic, or more creative.  Bullshit.  You're just all fucked up.  Likewise, people who use drugs to define themselves ("I'm a stoner") are equally guilty of being dumbasses.  So, to clarify things, I'm going to let you know what pot (and other drugs) are actually good for.

1.  Society uses pot to neutralize disruptive elements within itself.  Fact.  For most people, there's a can of beer or a shot of whiskey, but some have to think they're being bad or rebellious.  So The System made pot illegal, so these people can enjoy it more.  There's the added advantage that they can lock up a good percentage of these people...So you're either in jail or on the couch watching reruns of The Dukes of Hazard.  Either way, you aren't any trouble, in any way that counts.

2.  Getting fucked up for cheap physical gratification.  After all the excuses and rationalizations run out, this is why most potheads smoke pot, and why most pillheads take pills, etc.  WHY they make rationalizations is beyond me...I can respect a pot smoker who states that he does it for this reason, but not someone who feels they have to explain a higher meaning to their self-indulgences.

3.  Getting fucked up to forget your problems.  Yeah, see you under the bridge.

4.  Getting fucked up to identify with "the culture".  Kill yourself.

5.  Getting fucked up as a side effect of the use of a drug for legitimate medical reasons:  Bonus for you.

That's pretty much it.  If you smoke dope, etc, you fit into one or more of the above catagories, regardless of what excuses you may have for your actions, so please stop trying to evangelize or convince anyone of the PSYCHIC POWERZ you get when you fuck yourself up for an evening or a week.

Thank you for your time.

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheNudifier

I know you can already do this, but we need this in pistol form.

Yesterday, while I was soldering the first connections on my optical stunner, it occurred to me that the world isn't ready for you, Kai.  They aren't ready for understanding the rules of how the universe works...because the universe is a cold, empty place, and even contemplating it sets off all their primate rage instincts.

No, Kai, you are doomed to be the scapegoat of the Know-Nothings, the Tea Partiers, and the corporate interests that want to keep the population ignorant.  With this in mind, I am here to attempt to convert you to Mad Science.  Allow me to explain the benefits, as they compare to regular science:

1.  Regular scientists drive sensible transportation.  Mad scientists drive chopped hearses with built in weaponry.

2.  Regular scientists define a wild party as three different bean dips.  Mad scientists define a wild party as fighting the giant squid in the basement.

3.  Regular scientists go on a date, and it's dinner and a movie.  Mad scientists just strap their date to the slab and get busy.

4.  Regular scientists retire at 70.  Mad scientists go down swinging when the hero blows up their base (and we usually escape to menace the world later on, with cybernetic parts replacing the bits we lost).  Pissing yourself in the old folks home, or howling in fury in a burning/collapsing/self-destructing volcano hideout?  You choose.

5.  Regular scientists ride those silly backwards bikes to stay in shape.  Mad scientists wear a full body waldo and throw cars around while laughing maniacally.  Laughing maniacally, Kai.  When's the last time you did that?

6.  Regular scientists secretly yearn to be mad scientists.  Mad scientists secretly yearn to CONQUER THE WORLD WITH AN ARMY OF RADIOACTIVE GORILLAS!

People fear science, Kai.  But who's afraid of a mad scientist?  Fucking nobody.

Good morning, my little exploding anal beads of corruption.  It seems The Good Reverend Roger has "lost his shit" in a big way, and died of his own stupidity in Oro Valley Hospital, some time over the last day and a half.  But fear not, for I have been reborn, like unto a buzzard rising from its own poop.

First order of business:  As I am now out of the Holy Man^TM business, I bequeath my Rain God title and all other holy offices, vestments, and/or Horrorsex equipment unto Payne, for the conversion of the heathens in Scotland.  America has no use for Holy Men^TM.  Trust me on this...We Doktors know a hopeless case when we see one.  As such, I am retiring the TGRR moniker for good.  I needed to change my outlook anyway, as the one I had was no longer big enough.

Second order of business:  I'd like to offer a heartfelt and public apology to Nigel, concerning the accusations of "betrayal" I had made.  This was nothing more than an exhaustion-driven paranoia that caused me to read some drivel in a PM from Yatto, and interpret it as details of a plot to make me miserable.  This was obviously not the case, and I am very sorry.  Nigel didn't deserve that.

Third order of business:  The bickering.  Okay, everyone's pissed and howling.  I kind of like that.  But consider that you are howling at the wrong people.  Your aim is sloppy, and there's no excuse for that.  After all, it's not like any of you get along with normal people...If you did, you wouldn't be a Discordian.  So why shit in your own nest?  Because you're bored?  Because content stagnated?  Because you need the attention?  Because it's February, and you don't know what else to do?  That's monkey behavior.  You are not a robot, so stop operating off of programming.  Consider:  You have a limited time on this planet, and you will only find so many people that you can get along with...and it's always later than you think.  Time is fucking short.  It took dying for me to figure that out, but there's no need for you to re-invent the wheel.

So, that's that.  But where do things go from here?  

Well, I'd like to learn how to use Radio Free Discordia, because I have some things to say, and I am no longer satisfied with the written word as a medium.  Nurse Mayhem and I will be putting up some new artwork - including spiffy new avatars to reflect our Mad Scientist approach to things, and possibly - if you ask Nursey very nicely - making avatars for people who agree with the things we're about to yell.  Oh, yes...and finding a practical way to destroy the city of Tucson, Arizona, because that's the sort of thing cartoon villians do.  

Who's afraid of Doktor Howl?  Fucking nobody.