Urban detox joint juice

First you get addicted to one and then you have to go to quasi-Christian meetings, where you are forced to drink the other.

Here we have Joint Juice. The juice from joints? Let's call it bong water, shall we?

Or is it Juice for your joints? It helps your knees? And your elbows? Are you sure? What's in it? Do tell. A big blue raindrop?

And then we have "Function:Urban Detox"? (Is that ENGRISH? Or RUSSiangLISH -- I love the "Function:" part.) I'm so sorry but it's highly unlikely this will help you detoxify yourself from URBAN life, even if it does have the rod of Asclepius on it. But I can imagine some overworked inner-city police officer discovering this in the aisles and saying to his girlfriend, "Do you think this will help?", or I can imagine this conversation:

Corn: "Yo, Satan, how are we going to use up all this extra corn syrup ?"

Satan: "Why don't we just add some colored water and sell it to humans?"

God: "Hey, that's a good idea! Do you think they will buy it?"

Satan: "Fuck yeah, they are zombies."

Through a series of events that CORN -- the evil plant that is taking over America -- engineered, we Americans are a sorry lot. We are fat, we wear dumb red hats, we are lonely, we are all on drugs, we don't know how to use a semi-colon, we guzzle weird beverages, we get diabetes, and ultimately we have to go to Kaiser Permanente where our organs get harvested for nitrogen which is then used for the soil that the corn itself has depleted! It's all a vicious cycle.

So, get out your swords and sickles, people, and head to Iowa.

Its all corn's fault! Standing so impossibly tall and sturdy and so close together in those fields. Being big bullies to the other poor crops. Not letting those farmers plant anything else or even rest for a minute.

Corn is RELENTLESS.

This from Michael Pollan's book The Omnivore's Dilemma:

"With the advent of the F-1 Hybrid( a strain of engineered corn) , a technology with the power to remake nature in the image of capitalism, Zen Mays entered the industrial age and, in time, it brought the whole American food chain with it."

Well FU corn and all your by-products.

P.S. Okay, I never really envied vacuous imaginary ladies with impossibly long legs

(like corn!) and weird dresses (like corn!) AND REALLY WEIRD BOOTS (which I sort of want -- see previous posts). I actually envy Michael Pollan. He's the man.

Don't Be That Bitch, Comrade Y! She Gets Weird Press!

Recently reviewing Comrade Y's post about Kelly Wearstler (5/2/10), apparently her arch-enemy and fantasy doppelganger, Comrade X decided to view the readers' comments on that particular article, as he often finds clues to the cracks in the ideological superstructure which he can exploit in service of the coming Revolution (by the way, he also looked at the accompanying slide-show, which was, to say the least, absolutely self-serving and ridiculous AND showed a boot -- yes, a BOOT! -- that she wants, like ANYONE fucking cares!). Well, usually: instead, he found only four (see, Comrade Y, she's not THAT fabulous) comments:

"Now I know who the pretty one who wore the weird dresses is. I liked her."

Torturous syntax aside, this particular reader is being, seemingly, intentionally opaque. Where exactly did this reader see the putatively fabulous Ms. Wearstler wearing "weird dresses"? At the International Weird Dress Bienniale? And is this comment supposed to mean something to someone? Aren't comments supposed to INVITE readers to respond or think about them, rather than absolutely STOPPING them from doing so? And who the fuck cares if you liked her or not, retard? We here at Irritable Blog Syndrome hate her, and, by extension, all who like -- or liked (apparently this reader might not like her anymore -- watch your verb tenses!) -- her.

And then there's this utterly incomprehensible encomium to something Ms. Wearstler did in some place Comrade X has never heard of and will never go to (what it was is unclear -- apparently it is de rigeur to avoid clarity at all costs when commenting about this woman):

"Wearstler's work at the Viceroy in Anguilla is truly remarkable. The clean lines, the intriguing gnarled distractions from clean lines, the sense of openness, of fresh sea air in the spaces, and finally, the luminous enchantment of relaxing within a work of art; I can't wait to return."

So there's clean lines and then a DISTRACTION (and a gnarled distraction at that, like that matters) from clean lines? She does something and then distracts you from it? What the fuck? Openness and sea air and blah blah blah -- glad you get to go back and see it again, you bourgeois asswipe. Keep us updated. Try not to masturbate on anything while you're there.

Now for a more level-headed analysis of the phenomenon that is Kelly Wearstler:

"Now tell who really wants to admire a pretty rich successful woman who seems to have it all. Maybe I am just not a nice person, but I don't. If I see Kelly's several million dollar home, beautiful sons and the good life in L.A, in one more magazine....I promise to pray she gets a zit on the tip of her nose which lasts for a full two weeks."

Who wants to admire her? (Well, Comrade Y does, sadly [get over it, Comrade!]). But this particular reader's hatred of Ms. Wearstler allows Comrade X to forgive him/her his/her syntactical and punctuation errors. But you know that some bourgeois fatass somewhere is sitting in his/her chair at the country club thinking, "Ha! See what a public school education gets you? Bad grammar and jealousy! Ho! Jose, another martini, if you will. Hurry now!" And seriously -- a zit? I can think of far more insidious tortures for this bourgeois waste of space.

(Although Comrade X IS rather bothered that the only negative comment was written by a semi-literate writer.)


And of course, there's always the frat boy whose arrested adolescence leads him to embarrass himself publicly and seemingly unselfconsciously:

"Among all the photographs in this story, it would have been nice to see her glorious Playboy spread."

Oh, come on. And: did she really do a Playboy spread? Now THAT is the sign of a good mother! No, not self-obsessed at all ...

Bitch.

Prepare for domination!

This particular product was brought to the attention of Comrade X by the ever-vigilant Comrade E, who was obviously shocked at the blatant message by the Androcentric Bourgeois World Order. The Oppressors have become so lazy and arrogant that they no longer feel the need to subtly push their agenda -- they are now proclaiming it loudly! For instance, the advertising language on this product says:

"All the world loves a lover [of capitalism!]. All the world loves Mandom [but hates femaledom? Or loves being dominated by "The Man"?]. Man o man [oh, man!]. That's MANDOM [caps in case you didn't get the message the first three times]."

What is this? What have we come to? Now they are giving us hair product (side note: what is the difference between "hair liquid" and "hair tonic"? Just another way of selling us one product TWICE, by giving it two different labels!) that, in all probability, contains some kind of brain-numbing element (think: military-industrial-entertainment-hair product complex), making us more susceptible to the now-overt messages of the Capitalist Hegemony. Bow down in abject servitude! Love MANDOM!

Comrade X gets excited for a moment, thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, we have brought down a corporation.

Imagine if you will Comrade X's surprise when he saw this little card on the counter of a Starbucks one day. Now, some of you will surely ask, "But Comrade X, what were you doing in a Starbucks, the most visible and obvious of all the corporate entities against which you fight?" Well, the answer is twofold:

1. Comrade X likes their mochas (yes, even Comrade X is not above the hallucinatory appeal of the chocolate-flavored coffee beverage, and finds himself pulled by the very forces -- oh, so seductive! -- he daily fights against. Lo, how frail is Man! Even the most committed Revolutionary might, like Homer (not the one on the Simpsons, you media-saturated readers! The other one, that Greek guy), nod occasionally! But rest assured, Comrade X does not fall for the whole "experience" Starbucks is trying to create to assure customer recidivism. No, it's just that they put something in the chocolate syrup, I swear ...

2. Observation of the enemy, as Sun Tzu said (or might have said), is the key to winning the battle (or maybe it was having the high ground, I can't remember).

So, Comrade X finds himself at the counter, ordering his $3.50 mocha (outrageous!), when he spots the card above. What?! Starbucks Red? Can it be? Are they supporting the Revolution? Have they crossed over to the side of righteousness and revolutionary fervor? Are they ready to dismantle themselves from within and pick up the mantle of the oppressed proletariat? Cheered by this seemingly good news, Comrade X of course purchased said card, loaded it up with money (as the Revolution needs funds, he thought he would help the coming class war and current corporate dissolution). The oppressed "barista" put the card in a useless and wasteful card holder (assuming it was a gift? Or to cover the fact that we were co-conspirators in the Revolution, like hiding Mao's little red book in a Chinese newspaper?), and that was that. With a knowing wink and a look of (assuredly feigned!) confusion on the part of the oppressed worker, Comrade X left the establishment. Later, however, when he removed the card from its concealing package to revel in its glorious message, he noticed this written in the bottom corner, in very, very small type, on the inside of the top flap:

"enjoy $" Of course. How could Comrade X have been so blind? Enjoy money! The whole thing was a ruse, a joke, a message from the all-powerful capitalist overlords telling Comrade X EXACTLY what they are doing with all the money Comrade X has spent at that particular establishment over the years, and all the money he just put on that stupid card. Enjoy money! OF COURSE they enjoy money! How could I have been so blind? And and AND, what is worse, they are telling Comrade X to enjoy money, as well! It is a command, delivered from the controllers of money to those dispossessed of it, inflaming their desire for it, forcing them to work harder for lower wages to try to obey this demand! Enjoy money! Drink Coke! Love the Starbucks "experience"!

Bah!

How can I enjoy money if I give it all to them? Comrade X is upset. He needs a mocha.

It so isn't

Fuck you, bitch. Wait, can I be you ?

This from the New York Times Style section.
http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/04/27/profile-in-style-kelly-wearstler/

Impossibly fabulous. Impossibly tall. Impossibly fabulous. Impossibly tall.

Something about those big orange lines on the wall and the orange in the painting fill me with such dread and rage that I can barely breathe.

See if you can read the rest of the article and and scroll through this woman's life without strangling the nearest person/thing/pet/boyfriend/grandmother.

I read these type of things and buy into it. Don't we all ? Isn't that the whole point; to make us feel inferior,ugly,dumb,pedestrian? It's a big HUGE obvious ploy for us to buy,buy, buy, but yet I STILL BUY BUY BUY INTO IT !!!

IT MAKES ME WANT TO SHOOT MYSELF AND THEN GRAB TUFTS OF HER HAIR AND YANK IT OUT.

Is it possible that this is not a myth ? Does this really exist ? (Actually I have seen it first hand.)

That's the sad part. It does exist.

(Impossibly conflicted feelings-- There, I confess)

xo--Y

Happy May Day, Comrades!

Well, Comrades, I hope you are celebrating May Day, the birth of organized labor -- and radicalized labor, at that -- right here in the United States of Bourgeois Oppression. This is its birthday. I'm not sure what day it died, though, but I do know that it was moribund for quite a while until Herr Reagan finally suffocated it with a pillow.

Rise up!

Oh, and I got you all a present: