Why are people so predictable?
Why do people against abortion always wind up being against high taxes and welfare and the U.N.? What the hell do these issues have to do with each other?
Why do people that are ‘liberal’ and pro-abortion always wind up being anti-racism and pro-recycling? Are they going to recycle the fetuses??
Why can’t you be pro-war AND pro-recycling, AND pro-gun-control AND anti-tax? Hasn’t anyone developed a spine since high school?
For instance, everyone at my high school who liked THE CURE also had (by some unwritten law) to like BAUHAUS, LOVE AND ROCKETS, and SISTERS OF MERCY. Why?
Why couldn’t they dress in black and have big boots festooned with skulls, and like Merle Haggard? or Javanese Gamelan for that matter???
Why have you never met someone who’s really into astrology and cock-fighting?
Or fly-fishing and Satanism? C’mon it would be fun! You could have a little altar on your rowboat. Bait the hook with blood-soaked communion wafers!
There’s nothing in the Koran specifically forbidding you from playing air-guitar so how come you never see any hardcore Muslim women in burkhas walking down the street doing it?
AIEEEEE!!!! No one is interesting. If anything interesting DID happen to you, you have to cover it up and hide it because it makes you vulnerable.
I don’t want to live in this kind of world!
(I’m sure there are more pressing problems like world peace and hunger, but for the moment let’s leave these issues in the able hands of beauty pageant queens)
I want to live in a world where people don’t WANT to be stereotyped, pigeonholed, where you CAN’T tell a book from its cover. Where everyone you meet is surprising, where all the lemmings finally jumped off the cliff for good and only non-conformist people are left.
I want to go to some diner in Nebraska and sit down next to some 400-pound Teamster and ask him what he’s read lately, and he’s just as likely to say "bell hooks" or "emily dickenson" as "Soldier of Fortune".
I want to meet some crack-slanging, underwear-flaunting gangsta guy who would never go to a Snoop Dogggg show because he’s got a bridge tournament to train for.
I want to go to the Snoop Dogggggg show and see some Eskimo in full walrus-hair snowsuit, throwing his set in the air. And I want to see Snoop come on stage and do some sensitive acoustic guitar songs about the environment.
Then I want to go to Lilith Faire and see some fifty-year old Earth Mothers with wool socks and hideous hand-made jewelry doing gangsta rap and calling each other "Nigga." As in, "Ay-yo, buy my hand-made Venus of Willendorf incense-holder, Nigga!!" (fires shotgun in air)
I want 10,000 to pack the L.A. Colluseum for the First Annual Hells Angels’ Origami-fest.
I want Slayer to star in a Broadway musical like OKLAHOMA or FLOWER DRUM SONG.
I want to walk down Market street and pass a homeless person and a businesswoman impeccably clad in a black Chanel suit, and have no idea which one of them is going to hock up a huge orange loogie on my feet. Plus,I want them to be ENGAGED.
I want Ralph Nader to sing for death metal band Deicide.
I want the singer for Deicide (Glen Burton ,the man famous for branding an upside-down cross into his forehead) to team up with Quincy Jones and record an album of smooooth adult-contemporary Whitney Houston music, but still sing in his usual Cookie Monster voice.
I want to live in a world where everything is mixed up and unpredictable. Where you honestly can’t tell if Garth Brooks’ next album is going to be called ‘GARTH LOVES YOU’ or ‘SMASH THE PATRIARCHY’ or ‘BEELZEBUB RAPES YOUR UNBORN FETUS IN HELL’ or ‘GARTH EXPLAINS STRING THEORY USING SIMPLE QUANTUM TOPOLOGY, VOLUME ONE’.
I want to look in the newspaper Society Pages, and look at the Wedding Announcements and see a bunch of people named Soo-Kim McGillicutty and Yoko Vazquez and Javier Papodopolous and Sergei Wong-O’Toole and Sinead O’ Ramprakash and Latifah Muhammed-von-Goldstein and Pierre La Mababangloob!!
I want fucking Amy Tan to stop writing books about second-generation US-born Chinese women and their fucking issues with their mothers. I want her to write about third-generation Puerto Rican men who have issues with their uncles. Or first-generation Navajos that immigrate to Bali and have issues with the Puerto Rican’s uncles. Or fourth-generation Armenian trans-sexuals who immigrate to the moon and have issues with MY mother, or anything besides the same fucking novel over and over and over again!! jesus!!
I want Ninjas to make a real fucking racket when they walk around.
I want you-YES YOU- to go to the football game and instead of singing the national anthem, Whitney Houston recites Pi to 200 places. And you can never predict whether the football players will be wearing clothes. Sometimes they just wear helmets and cleats and baby oil. Sometimes they just spend the whole game fucking. Sometimes they just do laundry on the sidelines while the cheerleaders put on spiked gloves and beat the everloving shit out of each other for 40 minutes. Where the half time show is Noam Chomsky. And instead of talking about geo-politics, he’s reading a love poem to Ralph Wiggum. "I bent my wookie!"
Where they get Woody Allen to play Sharon Stone’s role in BASIC INSTINCT.
Where they get Stallone to play Yentl.
Where Bradddd Pitttt has to go to Craigslist to find a date, but Yo-Yo Ma is trampled to death by estrogen-crazed housefraus.
Where the TV footage of Ronald Reagan’s colorectal polyps beats out Michael Myers’ latest movie for an Oscar.
Where MAD magazine runs parodies of the latest articles in NEUROBIOLOGICAL QUARTERLY with titles like ‘z-psiliciobius protease, shmotease!!’
Where leather daddies at the Folsom Street fair sport designer Stephen Hawking and Kenny G cockrings.
Where Jewel and Tori Amos get in a gunfight at the CMJ awards, 4 dead, 23 injured.
Where there’s some guy cruising in East Oakland with huge speakers in his lowrider, and he’s playing Shoenburg’s 12-tone music for the whole damn neighborhood.
Where a bunch of Navy guys finally get shore leave in Manilla and you honestly can’t tell if they’re going to go to a whorehouse or The Pottery Barn.
Where some angry young, pierced, gay, black kid with polio gets up to the rostrum of the poetry slam and you have not the faintest fucking idea what he’s going to talk about.
Where . . . well, you get the point.
This is the kind of world I want to live in.
Do you agree? If you have any suggestions like the ones I have set forth here, please email them to me!1 comment