Got some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first? The bad news? Perfect. Bad news is, there’s a woman in Kansas who’s been sitting on the toilet for two years. Because of a phobia she has been unwilling to leave the can. Good news is help has arrived and she’s being treated for having her body literally grow around the toilet seat. I’m fairly sure that problems like this don’t exist in the developing world and maybe I’m over-reacting, but if there was ever a sign of our society breaking down it’s this. It’s not high school kids dropping out, it’s not governors sleeping with prostitutes, it’s people like the toilet lady and her boyfriend of 15 years.

We were just as shocked as all of you, but I got the invite via a faxed, handwritten, translated, then xeroxed, then hand copied again note inside into a Snoopy greeting card. Here’s what it said: “Most honorable Tabernacle, Our Great-LeaderFather requests your Seating at the great Pyongang House of BBQ for a friendly exchange of culture. Call me back.” Needless to say, we’ll be going. It’s time to bust this sucker (of a country) wide open. We’ll be bringing frankincense, myrrh and some I Love NY t-shirts.

Somehow, the man came to his senses and realized he wasn’t going to win this one and honestly I’m just glad he threw his weight behind my main man, B.O. In his honor, we dedicated our masthead to the man with a stolen picture from this article. I’m hoping now that Castro is going to put his feet up, that we will lift the dumb embargo we’ve got on Cuba. Let the maduros and Cuban sandwiches FLOW! I want there to be a Disney World in Havana in the next 6 months and I want the next MTV Beach House to be in Guantanamo. Hell yeah.

The Back Alley Tabernacle has held off making an official political endorsement so that our flock may find their own path. We then realized that it’s our JOB to LEAD our congregation, in some cases even take advantage of them and use our massive political clout to shift support behind ONE man. Yes, I said “man.” The B.A.T. would like to officially endorse Senator Barack Obama, primarily because Sheppard Fairey has designed a great poster for him. Download it if you like and spread the word. And the word is “change” people. Say it out loud! Say it with your vote! And vote, early and often. Thank you.

The election bores me. I know it shouldn’t, this is the year everything changes, yeah, got it. Been hearing that about ER and x-men comics for years.

But I just can’t get it up for the “race” this time. I know everybody’s being funded by the same companies, know everybody’s gonna be playing the same game in office, know we don’t get to hear one single solitary truth on the campaign trail. I thought I’d be foaming at the mouth with excitement for the machinations of the process, but I suppose it’s like the end of the Matrix, all I see is code, and frankly, it’s dull. Even the press has realized they’ve no idea what’s going on, their inability to even pretend to predict winners in the primaries becoming damned embarrassing.

And so, it is with tears of joy I welcome Bill Clinton’s entry into the arena, as Hilary’s political hitman. The man who at one point ran the free world is now out on the stump implying that Obama only won some primaries because he was black, calling Obama an out and out liar, and basically acting as Chris Partlow to Hilary’s Marlo Stanfield. (You’ll only get that if you watch The Wire, and if you don’t, fuck off, you’ve no taste and should burn in the fires of Hell. Sucka.)

This is what politics is all about for me. Let’s see some ugly. Let’s see some shrewd and twisted maneuvering, forcing Obama to talk about race by talking about Obama not talking about race while saying all the while you’re not talking about race. Let’s inject some Machiavelli into this here clusterfuck.

And yes, I mean Tupac’s Machiavelli, not The Prince.

Because, low down and dirty as it is, at least it’s showing some wee bit of authentic human emotion. Bill’s pissed, and whether or not it’s a smart tactic, it sure does remind me why I loved the shit out of that guy. He gets pissed, and when he’s angry, you better run.

That’s what I want in a president.

That, or a black guy.

This past weekend, my honeybaby lovedoodle and I were poking around in a junk shop on the NorCal coast when I stumbled across something of a holy relic: A VHS copy of Planet of the Apes. No, not the recent retread by the overrated (it kills me to say that, but I have to finally admit the truth) Tim Burton. No, the real movie; the 1968 classic starring the Omega man himself, Charlton Heston. At the time of purchase, I had no idea the cinematic powerhouse was to shortly shatter a vow of willful ignorance I had maintained with great diligence for much of the year.

Let me explain. About eight months ago, I swore off all media. This is a big deal for me, as I’ve been known to those who can stand my presence as “Mr. Read Everything in the World about Current Events and Politics” for the better part of two decades. Yet, I realized that with an election cycle upon us, there’s no better time to shut it down. Eighteen months of empty promises and bullshit campaigning I thought I could do without. Until, that is, Heston the lost and ever virile astronaut (as Heston plays only Heston, character names are trivial formality) reminded me of my duties as an American citizen. By the time Chuck planted Old Glory in the soil of the alien world, I was itching to get my hands on a Gallup poll, any Gallup poll.

I never knew that Planet of the Apes was a prophetic film, but behold the True Parallels:

Charlton Heston = The U.S. Voting Citizenry. Strong willed and cocksure of direction with absolutely no clue what’s going on in the world around him. Hell, he doesn’t even know what world he’s on.

Evil Ape Doctor Zaius = Huckabee, Romney, Giuliani, McCain, Clinton, Edwards. Protector of both government and faith. All share plans for exploitive government, differing most widely on type of faith promoted (god/dollar/self).

Astronaut Dodge = Barack Obama, of course! The only black astronaut/candidate, he’s sacrificed right away (just like Star Trek) and put on display in the Museum of Natural History.

Chimpanzee Zira = Yours Truly. Exceedingly good-looking and impossibly intelligent, she understands everything right away and is willing to sacrifice her knowledge.

Impossibly Hot Babe Nova = At first I thought she was my honeybaby lovedoodle, but then realized she’s a mute brunette, not a verbally engaging blond. While I haven’t found a parallel for her yet, I will! Stay tuned as I dig deeper into the POTA mysteries.

By the end of the film, everything became clear to me once more. In the final scene (SPOILER ALERT!), Heston/The Voter finds the destroyed Statue of Liberty and realizes where he is. While his pre-post-human hottie looks on, he pounds on the sand and yells, “YOU RUINED IT! YOU DESTROYED IT! YOU IDIOTS!!” That’s us, yo. Every four years, it’s our fists slamming in frustration, angry with ourselves for being fooled again.

Thanks, Chuck, for opening my eyes and ears once again open to the brittle promises of the political heavens.

Tod E.S. Brilliant works wonders on the world through his own blog todbrilliant.com.

I saw a dead frozen rat today. It was face up at the base of a Henry Ward Beecher statue, looking longingly up as if being inspired by his greatness, maybe even ANNIHILATED by his greatness. The statue has two freed slaves laying laurels at Mr. Beecher’s feet. I suspect if it were constructed current day, people wouldn’t be that excited about it. Slaves worshipping the feet of a chubby white guy? Probably not. What they should do is erect a statue of this man, with two bronze dead rats staring up at him. Now that’s the ticket.

As an American, it’s my born right to be on the lookout for new countries to invade. We invaded Massachusetts, the west, hell we’ve even taken shots at Cuba and Mexico before hitting lands beyond our horizon. One place I’m really hoping we drive tanks into is Sudan. Aside from saving millions of lives from an ongoing genocide at the hands of government sponsored militias, our tanks could set straight some serious problems with government officials, who are currently trying a school teacher for letting her students name a teddy bear Mohammed. If convicted she could be whipped, jailed and fined. I kid you not.

Saving lives of really poor people was not good enough reason for military intervention, but TEDDY BEARS, and the WHIPPING of a TEACHER? Done and done. Gear up folks, we’re goin’ in.

Turns out those trailers FEMA handed out to survivors of Hurricane Katrina? The ones that people have been living in, as their homes were obliterated? They got Formaldehyde in ‘em. That’s right, the chemical they put in dead folk to keep ‘em from decomposing. The chemical the European Union is banning, because it’s carcinogenic. It’s all up in the trailers.

Which maybe explains the headaches, nosebleeds, breathing difficulty and nausea people living in the trailers have been complaining about.

Is there anything FEMA’s done right in the past eight years? Hell, during the recent fires here in Southern Cal, FEMA just couldn’t get by without fucking up, BY FAKING A NEWS CONFERENCE. FEMA is that buddy of yours that just has to punch his boss, even though he knows it’s wrong. The guy that has to take that girl home, even though he knows his girlfriend’s coming back from vacation any time now. Who fakes a news conference??? Is the government being run by the cast of Saturday Night Live?

Artists are critical to our society. Without them, our lives, our communities would be bleak, boring uninspired expanses of beige nothingness. And without them, we wouldn’t have people building secret apartments inside malls.

Karl Rove might not be a bad guy deep down; deep down below his oily, 4-inch thick casement of blubber. He’s leaving government work on to bigger and better things having escaped any kind of trial that would’ve put him in jail. I would’ve loved to see him in an orange jumpsuit, but then I found myself hoping for some kind of special civilian torture far worse for the Rover than jail time.

Some people want the guy dead, and lord knows he’s made enough decisions that have ended other people’s lives and careers. Honestly, I think I’d be happy if a group of teenagers lit a bag of dog shit on fire on his doorstep, week after week. Or if the neighbor’s dog peed on his manicured lawn. Or if he got wet newspapers. Somehow I think this would make his head explode. Also if someone wants to punch him in his fat gut that’d be okay too. Any volunteers?

Apparently a rebel southern tornado wandered well north of the Mason Dixon and wreaked havoc on Brooklyn!! The whole time I was watching the non-stop lightning I had no idea my life was in danger. It was beautiful, then I spent the rest of the day trying to get to work using subways that were both underground and underwater. Love this town…

Just minutes ago, my friend Kristopher alerted me to the fact that, on the T-Mobile website, they claim to have trademarked the. color. Magenta.

To which I say, WHAT IN THE WIDE WIDE WORLD OF SPORTS?????

Since when can anyone trademark a naturally occuring pigment? When did T-Mobile acquire the ability to own portions of the light spectrum? And why hasn’t this come to light sooner?

What does this even mean? What’s an “unregistered trademark”? Is this some kind of elaborate joke, or is T-Mobile well on its way to trademarking both time AND space?

Now, I’m well aware of the insidious nature of copyrights and trademarks, Disney keeping everything locked up in their vault for a million years, companies buying the natural water resources of South American towns, but a color? Fuck is next, emotions? Poses? “Pop locking is now the trademark of Bad Boy Entertainment.”

Think I better get back to building that spaceship. Time to saddle up, get the deuce of this crazy rollercoaster.

Why not just give the awards to the shows with the highest Neilsen rating? Because this whole “we give the awards to the best shows” scam you all got running? I am not even close to buying it anymore. Some examples of…well, let me put it this way. I’ve got a trainee at work, and I’ve taught him that there are two big rules to our job. Number one: People are stupid. The second rule is awesome, but with rule number one in place, who needs any other rules? So when I see Two and a Half Men nominated for an Emmy, when I see Boston Legal nominated as a drama, Debra Messing nominated for anything, when I see that there is an award for “Outstanding Main Title Design”, when I look at the nominations list and am actually happy, happy that they separate “Reality Programs” from “Reality-Competition Programs”, when neither The Wire (arguably the greatest show EVER) nor Friday Night Lights has been nominated for anything, I can but think back to Rule Number One, grit my teeth, and remind myself I haven’t really truly cared about an awards show since Denzel lost to Al Pacino for SCENT OF A FUCKING WOMAN.

So fuck the Emmys. Go pat yourselves on the back without me.

Everyone knows New York is a banged up, unpredictable urban mess. It’s what makes us famous. Dogs get electrocuted on manhole covers, people somehow survive being thrown in front of subway cars, and walls collapse on people just walking down the street. I have to say though, this latest steam pipe explosion kinda pissed me off. Not that it exploded, that’d be a pretty typical New York thing. What pissed me off was the parallel people drew to 9/11. Sure, on the TV it looked 9/11-esque; people running from a big white cloud, etc. But it was steam! It wasn’t two gigantic towers falling down that had planes flown into them! It was fucking steam.

Yes, people bugged out. Yes one lady died of a heart attack. It was nothing pleasant. But it wasn’t 9/11. I was bummed that both people here and elsewhere reported on it like it was the next big catastrophe to befall this city. I’ve already been told this is gonna be the “Summer of Terror”. Time to chill the fuck down, everything is going to be alright. Okay?