In More Than Memory

JAMES DOUGLAS MORRISON

8 December 1943 – 3 July 1971

artist poet singer
beloved husband of Patricia




For you, a song…turnabout is fair play.




Dark Angel


If my hand can reach out to touch you
If my song can fall on distant ears
If love can send itself to find you
This trip would never be ending in tears

Something that we never expected
Something that came as no surprise
Hand on our shoulder hard out of nowhere
Closing our dreaming, opening our eyes

We only had you while we had you
Should have understood you could never be owned
You were just here on a one-day passport
We never guessed you were only on loan

None of us ever thought you could leave us
We watched you bank your magical hours
Coining your blood to buy time on installment
We should have known you could never be ours

You weren’t meant for long-term duty
Just dropping in for the graveyard shift
Wasn’t gonna be any gold-watch party
Your time was the present, but you were the gift

We only had you while we had you
Should have realized you could never be owned
You were just here on a working visa
We should have seen you were only a loan

Never found yourself a place to shelter
Stayed with us when you needed a friend
Hardly even got to unpack your baggage
None of us dreamed there was so much to mend

Who could have thought you’d run the table
That’s just the way your loaded dice were thrown
Got off the bus for a quickie gamble
Back on board, destination unknown

We only had you while we had you
Didn’t understand you could never be owned
You were just here on a one-way ticket
Even in our arms you were always alone

We only had you while we had you
Nobody saw you get sliced to the bone
Nobody heard you bleed out silent
Nobody noticed you leaving alone

We only had you while we had you
Couldn’t accept you weren’t meant to be owned
You were just here on a one-way ticket
Even in our arms you were always alone

We only had you while we had you
That’s just the way those fated dice were thrown…


[hook out to fade]




—Patricia Morrison
written for Jim Morrison…and others…




©2005, Patricia Morrison for Lizard Queen Music





This is one of about thirty songs I’ve written over the past year or so, meant to be the fictional output of my fictional English guitar-hero protagonist, Turk, in the new mystery series…it seemed appropriate to publicly debut it on this day.

Off The Books

I've gotten a couple dozen inquiries over the past few months from readers of my late Keltiad series, all wondering when the next one might be appearing, and I thought I'd post here to give them the bad news all at once, if they're reading the blog.

Answer: never. HarperCollins dropped me after "The Deer's Cry", without so much as the courtesy of a phone call or any other regrets. Perhaps they didn't HAVE any regrets about cutting me loose, but still. And a series that's already been at three houses (Blue Jay, NAL/ROC and HarperCollins) isn't going to be picked up by anyone else. That's just the way it is.

I could, of course, go the print-on-demand route for Keltia, and I may yet. But I'm just not into it at the moment, so I'd say we've probably seen the last of Aeron, Gwydion and the rest of the folk.

Currently I'm having no luck at all selling another series, so this one I DO intend to POD. Assorted editors at many publishing houses all pant how much they love it and what a great idea, yet when it comes to actually putting money and a contract down they all beg off, claiming that it "falls between two chairs" (it's a BOOK. It doesn't NEED a chair...), meaning really that they can't figure out where to shelve it at the bookstores or how to pitch it to the salesmen: is it a murder mystery, is it rock and roll, is it romance, is it a 60's period piece, is it chick lit.

It's a NOVEL. It has ALL those elements. Real books often do.

These days, POD is the resort of choice for authors far more famous and successful than I. People who want to break out of one genre and try another only their publishers won't let them do it. Midlist authors, such as myself, whose loyal audience just wasn't BIG enough to satisfy the bean-counters.
With POD, I will not only earn more royalties but I will have total control. And y'all probably know how important that is to me. Downside is that the POD places like xLibris and iUniverse take an 80% cut, and that without an advance. So it's far from ideal. But at least it will get the series out there.

Oh, and nobody wants my Viking novel, either. Because nobody is buying Vikings. Therefore nobody buys Vikings. Of course, once someone actually manages to get a Viking novel SOLD, then everyone and their cousin will want Viking books of their own. (And mine is a damn good Viking book, if I do boast so myself...hey, how Viking is that!)

Anyway, I'm planning on taking a leaf from Ani DiFranco and do the sell-it-over-the-Internet thing. I'll be setting up a website down the road once things get more definite, where sample chapters can be read and, hopefully, books ordered. I have three completed books in the series, plus four or five more in various stages of construction, so I'll be able to pop them out pretty quickly once everything is a go and the first book is out. It's just a question of getting the set-up money for the first book together. After that, we'll see how it goes for the rest. I have about fifteen or so planned, and an artist friend of mine will be designing the jacket art, and I'm compleeeetely in love with the characters.

Yes, they're rock and roll, but they're not Jim and me AT ALL, even though, yes, she's a journalist. She's a proper journalist, though: she's like no one I ever knew or met or heard of, and her boyfriend/husband is an Eric Clapton clone only without the drug problems (but with some other interesting problems of his own). She's got a bisexual Janis Joplin-style best friend, a sympathetic though rich and dorky ex-husband, and she moves through the Sixties and early Seventies in a murder-magnet fashion.

Hopefully, we might see the first POD of the series (The Rennie Stride Mysteries) by early next year. And then maybe two more, and my Viking book. And maybe...but don't count on it...one day, Keltia again. I shouldn't have to do it this way. But apparently I do.

I'll keep you posted.

Hotel de Rocque

Saw in the NYTimes the other day how they've remade the funkily elegant old Navarro Hotel on Central Park South, a onetime rocknroll redoubt, into yet another preposterously expensive over-the-top residence.

Except for the fact that they kept giving the address as 110 CPS, where the Navarro was 112. Maybe I was stoned when Jim and I stayed there on two separate occasions six weeks apart back in 1970 and misremember the address. But I don't think I do, and I still have a matchbook to prove it. So either the Times is wrong (entirely possible) or it's the building next door they're reconstructing.

In any case, the Navarro was a nice little place to crash, spacious and airy, great park views out the front and great cityscape views out the back from the suites on the 25th floor that Jim and I inhabited. It not being as pricey or high-profile or groupie-accessible as the Plaza down the block (where the Doors stayed after the MSG show in '69) or the Essex House next door, Hendrix and other rockers were partial to it as well.

And now, either way, it's gone to Landmark Heaven with Penn Station and all the other lost buildings. Perhaps the new tenants will be driven crazy by ghostly crashing power chords and screaming lead vocals in the night. One can only hope.

Old Whory

That would refer not to our national flag, of course, but to the alleged lawmaking pimps who just tried to ram a flag-burning prohibition in Constitutional amendment form down our collective-electorate throats, and who were defeated by one vote, obviously from a hero.

WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU DONKEYS??? Are there no limits to your slimy pandering, your greasy opportunism disguised as patriotism, your constituent-butt-kissing of epic proportions? Have you nothing of greater importance to occupy what it pleases you to call your brains? Like oh, a WAR, and antiterror funding, and soldiers whose widows are being cheated out of their rightful payments, and getting this benighted land a national health plan, and all sorts of other stuff that apparently doesn't register on the scale of Need to Do. Freakin' gerbils.

Thank Jefferson and all other political deities for the following Senatorial spines:

Akaka, D-Hawaii
Bennett, R-Utah
Biden, D-Delaware
Bingaman, D-New Mexico
Boxer, D-California
Byrd, D-West Virginia
Cantwell, D-Washington
Carper, D-Delaware
Chafee, R-Rhode Island
Clinton, D-New York
Conrad, D-North Dakota
Dodd, D-Connecticut
Dorgan, D-North Dakota
Durbin, D-Illinois
Feingold, D-Wisconsin
Harkin, D-Iowa
Inouye, D-Hawaii
Jeffords, I-Vermont
Kennedy, D-Massachusetts
Kerry, D-Massachusetts
Kohl, D-Wisconsin
Lautenberg, D-New Jersey
Leahy, D-Vermont
Levin, D-Michigan
Lieberman, D-Connecticut
McConnell, R-Kentucky
Mikulski, D-Maryland
Murray, D-Washington
Obama, D-Illinois
Pryor, D-Arkansas
Reed, D-Rhode Island
Sarbanes, D-Maryland
Schumer, D-New York
Wyden, D-Oregon

Glad to know someone still has the guts to stand up to the hamsters. I just wish I could vote for you all. But that would kind of be like what Republicans do, wouldn't it.

And today I learn that far too many of the above commended Senators are giving support to state ordinances that would have the desired criminalization-of-free-speech-flagburning effect. You can't have it both ways, you little weasels! Either you allow it as free speech or you don't. Trying to hoist your flag and burn it too is cynical, manipulative, hypocritical and crass. So now I might not be voting for any of you. (Looking at YOU, Hillary and Chuck...)

I Misheard the News Today. Oh Boy...

Why is it that on-air newscasters seem completely unable to pronounce things properly? (I exempt from this only Andy Rooney, whom I appear to be rapidly becoming, only female and younger and with better hair.)

Over the past few weeks, I have heard ever so many wrongly pronounced proper names and, yes, even general vocabulary words, and I tell you it’s making me queasy.
And it’s not just low-rent local newscasters (looking at YOU, Channel 11 New York), either—it’s just as frequently the big fancy high-priced nightly news anchors and reporters and morning-show hosts (looking at YOU, WABC), who are certainly paid enough money to find these things out, or, if they're just too darn lazy, to hire someone who can.

In the interests of correct pronunciation, then: It’s…

Ralph Lauren: LORE-in, not Lore-ENN (that would be Sophia, the Lore-ENN-ly pronounced surname). Just listen to an RL TV spot, for God's sake...

Mount Mer-AP-pee, not Mount MER-uh-pie (Merapi: scary erupting volcano in Indonesia)

sue-DOH-ku, not sue-DOO-koo or SUE-doo-koo (sudoku: those little numeric crossword puzzles currently in vogue; I checked with Japanese friends, just to be sure)

Van Wyck Expressway: It’s Van WIKE, not Van WICK (do you say Van Dick for “Vandyck”? No! You say Van Dike! Donkeys.) (That would be DONK-kees, not DUNK-kees. Unless you're Chef Gordon Ramsey.)

When I was on a book tour in England some years back, I did some BBC TV and radio interviews, and as I was escorted to the various studios in the different broadcast facilities, I noticed on bulletin boards in the corridors many, many lists of correct pronunciations of abstruse and just problematic proper names.
I was pleased and impressed, to say the least, and there seems to be no reason that US news departments couldn’t follow suit. (That’s SOOOT, rhymes with boot. Not SWEET. Just FYI.)

GET IT RIGHT, you lazy sods! If you can’t spell or pronounce things, that’s what minions are for. Let them find out. And then DO it. Thank you.

I’d go into the manifold and egregious misspellings in the chiron supers (those identifiers that appear on screen to let us know who's speaking or where the pictured place is) and the closed-captioning (oh Mother of God! The horror! The horror! Save us, St. Pedantica, patron saint of orthography!), but I would like to keep my blood pressure at a normal level…

Happy Anniversary...

On the eve…


James Douglas Morrison and
Patricia Anne Elizabeth Genevieve Honora Kennealy

24 June 1970





Now, don’t you think I didn’t
Now, don’t you doubt we did
I’ll take that kiss now, Mrs.
One for the road


–Jim Morrison,
“The Duke of Sunset & The Duchess of Dawn”

Whole in Their Heads

In one of the more ridiculous chunks of political animal-rights correctness I’ve heard lately, if not ever, the giant organic grocery store chain Whole Foods has decided to stop selling live lobsters, claiming that the things are treated “inhumanely” in shipping. Yeesh. Has the Crustacean Liberation Front scored another triumph? Who knew they were so all-powerful??

People, they’re LOBSTERS. Basically, sea-going insects. They're pretty much cannibals (dining on lobster is not a treat reserved only for humans) and they have no more nervous system than other bugs. They're not like cows or pigs.
And, uh, like, they’re FOOD ANIMALS! We boil them alive and we EAT THEM!

I am really, REALLY, uh, steamed about this. We have a huge Whole Foods store on 14th Street at Union Square, where it has been my habit to shop once a week, to significant food-budget expense, and once a month or so, I would allow myself the treat of a nice steamed two-pound lobster, which I generally would then make into homemade lobster rolls, perhaps my favorite dish EVER.
Oh, sure, I can still go somewhere else and BUY a damn lobster, but then I would have to cook it myself, and the whole point of the exercise was so that I wouldn’t HAVE to cook it myself. Whole Foods did it for me. And I was so very grateful.

I would go to the fish department, tell the guy I wanted a two-pounder, and then prance off to do the rest of my shopping. When I returned, the lobster would be all cooked and in a nice little bag for me to take home. It was lovely, and the lobster, being so fresh and all, was dee-lishus. Almost like sitting on the benches of the picnic tables of the Ogunquit Lobster Pound in Ogunquit, Maine, and stuffing my face with steamed buttered lobster and/or lobster rolls. Almost, I say.

Anyway, since Whole Foods doesn't have all that much else to which I am devoted beyond a point of honor (their Packham pears, my faves, often remain unripe for WEEKS, they have a pathetically small selection of powdered hot chocolate mixes and other cacao products, their meatballs made me sick, they have never yet had those cool plastic clogs called Crocs in my size and a color that doesn't look like baby poo---WF, take note), and the stuff I do like (big bags of giant cooked frozen shrimp, fish sticks) I can get cheaper and better at Trader Joe’s, I’ll be boycotting WF with small regret, and shopping even more enthusiastically at TJ’s. I shall miss those neat little two-bite cupcakes, of course, but they’re not healthy anyway, so there it is.

Whole Foods claims if it can find a “more humane” shipper (to quote MDF Michael Rosenthal, perhaps they'll supply the traveling doomed crustaceans with upholstered observation train cars and glasses of beer on their last ride, since apparently if you souse lobster in beer not only does it taste better but it will have had a very pleasant death), lobster will be back on the menu, but in the meantime I say, Whole Foods, let you eat cake.


Oh, and if you haven’t discovered this yet, Barnes & Noble carries Godiva chocolate raspberry bars: dark chocolate slabs filled with raspberry jam. Pricey ($2.75 here in NYC), but positively ambrosial.

Manners Makyth the Human...

In the news today:


***New Yorkers are a polite bunch. No, really, they are. So says Reader’s Digest.

The magazine sent reporters “undercover” to 36 cities, in 35 countries, to measure courtesy. New York was the only American city on the list.

In a city with a reputation for being in-your-face, New Yorkers seem to be expressing themselves with a new one-finger salute: a raised pinkie. In fact, they seem to have even better manners than people in London, Toronto and Moscow.

In its admittedly unscientific survey, the magazine’s politeness-police gave three types of tests to more than 2,000 unwitting participants.

The reporters walked into buildings to see if the people in front of them would hold the door open; bought small items in stores and recorded whether the salespeople said “thank you”; and dropped a folder full of papers in busy locations to see if anyone would help pick them up.

New Yorkers turned out to be the politest: 90 percent held the door open, 19 out of 20 store clerks said “thank you,” and 63 percent of men and 47 percent of women helped with the flying papers.

In short, four out of five New Yorkers passed the courtesy test. Mayor Michael Bloomberg said he’s not surprised.

He told reporters Tuesday that whenever he travels abroad, he hears nothing but praise for the Big Apple’s good manners.

“We are so jaded,” he said. “We want to think the worst of ourselves, and people from around this country and around the world think exactly the reverse.”

The rudest continent is Asia, Readers Digest said. Eight out of nine cities tested there — including last place Mumbai, India — finished in the bottom 11. In Europe, Moscow and Bucharest ranked as the least polite.***



There you have it! Our secret blown! Thanks SO much, Bloomberg!

We like to talk big about how rude and scary we New Yorkers are, so that people will stay the hell away from our burg and we will not have to endure touristic stupidities like all those out-of-townies clustering at the corner crossing, waiting and waiting for the green GO light, when the nearest oncoming traffic is in, like, PENNSYLVANIA!
CROSS, you morons! Don't just stand there like ducks in a thunderstorm! Cross, I say! Or I'll drop-kick you from here to the Hudson River!

Or walking five abreast on the sidewalk, an entire oversized underbrained corn-fed Midwestern hick family blocking the pavement so we have to broken-field-end-run around you. Use some SENSE, will you? You can't even TALK to the family members on the outside ends of your little logjam row!
Walking in two tiers of two or three apiece makes life SO much easier for NYC natives, and has the further advantage that you can actually TALK to your companions about "Wow, Mother, did you ever SEE such a big goldarn building in all your livelong days?!" So DO IT, you freaking donkeys!!!

That said---I hope as rudely as possible, to put the fear of NYC into outland hearts---yes, we are indeed a polite people. We have to be. If we weren't, there would be gun duels in the street every hour of every day. (Even more than there are, I mean.) But tourists...I SWEAR, people should be forced to take a TEST before they're allowed to come here. I'd be happy to administer it...and I don't grade on a curve.

But even we natives can stand a bit of improvement...

Witness the discourteous idiots who, when you are leaving the supermarket with forty pounds of groceries in bags in either hand, try to push their way past you, although they are younger, more agile and far more unencumbered than you.
I generally try to whack them in the knees with the heaviest shopping bag I have as they shoulder by me. Oh right, hip or shoulder checks also good. Hey, they asked for it...

And the cretins who STAND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SIDEWALK AND JABBER CLUELESSLY AWAY TO FRIENDS JUST AS RUDE AS THEY, forcing the rest of us (usually carrying forty pounds of groceries) to detour sharply to avoid them.
"HEY!" I like to tell them, "It's a sideWALK, you fucking morons, not a sideSTAND! Move out of the right-of-way!" Or, I just crash into them. Hey, they asked for it...

Oh, and they expect YOU to walk around THEM, despite the fact that you are carrying forty pounds of groceries or, say, a six-foot-tall bookcase, and they are carrying nothing heavier than their brainless heads on their wispy little shoulders.
And THEN they act as if YOU're at fault!! That's when I want to take out my phaser and just blow them away. Clean up Dodge!

MAN! It's usually younger people who are guilty of most of this, though my fellow boomers are by no means off the hook. Seniors get a free pass, since they're older, frailer and smaller, and I was brought up to be polite to my elders. But young folks, and I'm not at all sorry to sound like a curmudgeon here, don't have the manners God gave a goat.

Hold the elevator or the door for them, they don't even say thank you (I generally say "YOU'RE WELCOME" in tones that can be heard in Hoboken, but they have no shame and it doesn't even seem to register that they've offended).

I don't mean to sound racist, but I've noticed that young Asian people are really bad with the manners thing. We have lots of Asian students in my neighborhood, and although I've always heard that Asians are a polite and mannerly folk, these kids either are atypical, had mannerless parents who didn't teach them correctly, or else merely validate Reader's Digest's finding that Asia is the rudest continent.
I shouldn't like to say, and it's certainly not all of them, and maybe it's a cultural thing, the result of all that overcrowding. But it IS a genuine phenomenon, and there are surely as many non-Asian offenders in that particular age group.

Anyway, the Manners Police have their work cut out for them, and I'm glad to do my part as enforcer. NY scored well, but we can go for better. If not, maybe we should all start carrying swords again. Three feet of steel is bound to go SOMEwhere. Preferably into the donkey butts of people who stand in the doorways and block up the halls. Or the sidewalks.

That Deaf, Dumb and Blind Kid

So, Unelected President George W. Bush apparently feels he has little enough on his plate to occupy his time these days. Hey, he’s a War President! The Bring It On Dude! Mission Accomplished Man! (Yeah, maybe he’s really Tom Cruise...) He NEEDS to do stuff!

You know, I can see his point. What with his lackey Chertoff whacking NYC and Washington’s Homeland Security pittance (hey, Duh-bya, YOU live in DC! In a pretty high-profile house painted white for better visibility when seen from hijacked airplanes piloted by crazed Islamofascists! HellOOO?), an unwinnable war that he should never have been allowed to start in the first place (pissed off at YOU, Democrats!), and, oh, all sorts of other minor issues and policies, like NOW PROVEN global warming and remember him giving port control to the United Arab Emirates and various henchmen of his being convicted of all sorts of things and now the immigration mess and let’s not forget Robert Kennedy Jr. and his Rolling Stone story of how the elections were stolen to begin with—he clearly DOESN'T have much to do to keep himself awake, does he.

Just puny little things, these, really. Not worthy of his limited attention and even more limited available brain cells. So of course he needs a REAL challenge to get behind in a manly-man-President fashion. Like a new Constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage.

That’s the ONLY explanation I can imagine for his all of a sudden hoisting himself back on the anti-gay-marriage bandwagon. Somehow, in the tiny, dusty, mouse-ridden attics of what it pleases him to call his mind, he, or a little brainmouse scurrying madly about, has decided that now is the day and now is the hour for him to renew his campaign to get discrimination officially written into our Constitution.

The mind boggles. Well, at least it does within the skulls of those of us who actually HAVE minds. Consider how the divorce rate among heterosexual married couples shows this country's respect for the married state. And we all KNOW those gay boys and girls haven't got the solid family values of, say, a weasel Yalie or a redneck wifebeater (man, not t-shirt) or a just-convicted corporate greedbag.

And how do we know this? Because Pat Robertson and his icky ilk tell us so, of course. Claiming that God tells them. Well, God tells me very different. God tells me it Makes Him/Her/It/Them ABSOLUTELY DIVINE GUT-PUKING SICK.

No, Duh is just doing it to kiss the dimpled pink butts of all the wackjob neocons and evangelicals he sold his soul to. Well, what pitifully skimpy soul he had, anyway. He doesn't seem to grasp the point that his party will suffer grievously for it, or maybe he just doesn't care. Midterm elections coming up? Hey, doesn't faze HIM, HE's not running!

I’ve given up hope of him suddenly coming to SOME senses (that WOULD be a miracle), but does no one around him have the brains God gave a goat? To grab his collar and pull him from the brink of his own stupidities? Or is it all the other way, and they’re all secretly drunk and stoned and giggling in their manly little clubhouse in the White House basement: “Hey, let’s see what we can make him do NOW!”

You know, I can't even LOOK at him when he's on TV. That blank-eyed stare and demented little half-smile tell me he's been taken over by either Scientologists or Qlippoth (look it up...look both up, actually). Or else he really is the pod person he's always, come to think of it, seemed.

I say let’s start a campaign for rich white WASP boys with minimal brains and overindulgent parents and suckup friends who carry him through every situation to not be allowed to marry. It’s an affront to gods and humanity that they can insult the sacred state of marriage so. It must be stopped! It must be made law of the land!

In fact, it should be part of the Constitution.

Homeland Immaturity

This morning the Homeland Security department, under the "leadership" of the feckless Michael Chertoff, slashed New York City's anti-terrorist funding by 40%. The justification being, get this, that according to its "reviewers" New York has no national monuments or icons that need protecting, and lousy defense plans.

Yes. These moronic hicks actually don't believe that my hometown, a city that has been hit twice by Islamofascists and remains Number One in the crosshairs, has anything worth giving money to protect. They say so, right on page 4 of an 8-page testament to idiocy published by their own agency.

They do not consider the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings, the U.N., the NY Stock Exchange, the Brooklyn Bridge, Shea and Yankee Stadiums, Grand Central Terminal and Penn Station, the Federal Reserve Bank (more gold than Fort Knox), the biggest public transportation system in the country...I could go on and on...they do not consider these to be worthy of protection. No, actually, they DO NOT CONSIDER THESE TO BE OF NATIONAL IMPORTANCE. Not icons. Not national monuments.

And claiming our anti-terror personnel and programs are doing a poor job? Bollocks. They are superb, even with the money they get. ESPECIALLY with the money they get. Claiming they do otherwise is beyond preposterous. It borders on slander.

So where is the pork, er, funding going? Oh, let's just see. Omaha is getting a 38% increase. Jacksonville, Florida gets a 26% increase. Louisville, Kentucky, a 41% increase. Hotbeds of terror targeting, all of them. Top of Al Qaeda's list. Hit many times in the past. What? You don't remember? Silly forgetful you, then.

Michael Chertoff seems to be pissed and insulted because NYC's anti-terror squad and leaders dissed him, as he sees it, last year over an alert we wanted and he didn't. A weasely, weedy-looking individual, who apparently is as brainless and clueless and vengeful as the unelected president who appointed him, the pissant Chertoff needs to be sacked out of hand like an unsatisfactory servant, because that's EXACTLY what he is.

And the "reviewers" who are responsible for this? Utter morons. Cheeseheads from rural areas who've probably never even SEEN a big city. Listing NO national monuments and icons in NYC, first capital of this great though increasingly benighted nation? Finding only FOUR banking and finance businesses here worth more than $8 billion? (Mayor Bloomberg says there are more than 20, and he should know.) How many icons and billion-dollar businesses in Charlotte, North Carolina, I wonder? Yet another city on the pork rolls for a bump in funding.

Can we take up a collection to buy these people a freakin' CLUE??? WHAT THE BLEEDING HELL IS THE MATTER WITH THEM??? That a full-brain transplant wouldn't cure, that is.

Beginning with Shrub the Grinning Chimp. If he DARES show his simian, simpering face here, capitalizing on our tragedy one more time, I want every single New Yorker out in the street protesting his presence in the strongest possible terms. They can't arrest us all. (Oooh, or CAN they? I smell gulag! I smell internment camps! I smell federal rat dung! I smell Republican fascist pigs! Well, I AM a child of the Sixties...)

No, it's all jealous payback. It's spiteful petty vengeance because Democratic, liberal, powerful New York City doesn't love the despicable Bush and didn't respect the puny Chertoff. No matter that they've done nothing, NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING, to merit our love and respect. They just waaaaaaant it. Waaaaaah. Well, too bad, you squalid contemptible creeps. You're not gonna get it until you do something to earn it.

I've been saying for YEARS that we should secede. I think the time is riper than ever for New York City, the Nation-State. Let's go for it, people! We have nothing to lose but a graceless nation that hates our guts and doesn't deserve us.

Heck of a job, Mikey? Mickey Mouse, actually...