God, Please Save These Troubled States

I'm writing this for a few reasons:

1) To make sense of this for myself.

2) To have something to link to so that I can explain why I stood in a park in Hollywood for 45 minutes with a rose that I was supposed to give to a stranger named Hector that I found out about because of a Craigslist ad.

3) To be able to link something on the A.F.I. board everytime someone is confused.

4) I like writing.

5) SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION. JOIN BUZZNET LOLZ OMGZ ROFL!

So here's a summary of the ridiculous Charlotte/337 mystery from the A.F.I. board. Thanks to Graham/etoile, Sephirothox, AFISeries, and everyone one of you crazy motherfuckers who helped figure out a part of this mystery. It's been insanely fun so far and it looks like it's just going to get better.

337 Mystery
The best way I know how to introduce this is by bringing up the Reiver's Music/Now The World Picture disc that was released in late 2002/early 2003. It was available at Hot Topic, so I managed to get a copy ahead of time. I had been lurking on the AFI board for about 6 months or so (I was too intimidated to post!). I distinctly remember the discussion about this record and something about Gavin (AFI Board Webmaster Extraordinaire) saying it was "336," first introducing us to this weird....number.

This eventually led to either Gavin or a band member saying that the next step was "337" or something like that. (Hey, it's been over 3 years. A lot of shit has happened. Cut me some slack.) This led all of us on the A.F.I. to begin to obsess about this obscure reference. My friend Daniel (astateofaffair1), myself, and a few other kids spent an entire night researching numerology after the board went down and Gavin linked us to a site about numerology. This, in turn, led to about 234,273,123,086 theories about what this all meant, including shit about reincarnation, how Sing The Sorrow was an out-of-order concept album about Davey's death, and other random (and nonsensical) ramblings. A lot of us thought we had it all figured out.

Then AFI releases Clandestine and makes all of us scratch our heads. I'm not gonna link it here; you can find it on YouTube if you so desire. It was a short movie starring the band, Gavin, and a bunch of DF members. It involved a black box with the STS leaf stenciled in red on the lid, a rabbit, an old pocketwatch, the number 3, 37, 333, and 3:36. Yeah. No one ever truly figured out what it meant and the ominous ending on the beach didn't help.

Fast forward to modern times....

Big Day Out
Most of us enjoyed the Clandestine/337 mystery because of it's ambiguity and ability to be interpreted as we desired, much like all of A.F.I.'s songs. In addition, the entire search was so incredibly intellectual, something those who know me know I love. I am a nerd. Reading about esoteric numerology is only a joy I understand. But I know I was incredibly bothered that there was no definitive "answer" to the whole thing.

Then Mikey Rhino (AFI family member and Sound Man Extraordinaire) made a strange entry on his Myspace. It read, "2 4 15"and many people tried to guess what it means. Some people assumed it was keyed to the alphabet through an alphanumeric code: i.e.,  2 = B, 4 = D, 15 = O, BDO. This stood for Big Day Out, which was a major show in Australia AFI was supposed to be at but never made it. This gave hints to AFI touring for their new album. After many people guessed what it meant, Mikey replied by saying, "Only one of you was warm like the winters." Great. Now more cryptic shit.

I'll admit, at the beginning, I was a cynic. Part of me was burnt on being so personally involved with the previous "hunt" and getting nothing tangible out of it. I was a freshman in college at the time, so, believe it or not, I had lots of free time to spend researching what technically amounts to a bunch of crap. (Not meant to be an offensive attack!) But now, I was working 45 hours a week; I had just joined Future Primitive and was working on practicing/playing shows; I had no consistent internet connection at home. Plus, I wasn't as amped on being a part of the AFI community as much as I did when I was 19. (That is a completely different and epic story that will be saved for another day.) I still loved the band as much as I did back then (probably more), but you grow out of those things when you're 22 years old and you possess an inherent hatred of Hot Topic. (Not meant to be an offensive attack either!)

And then the shit hit the fan.

One day on the message boards one random user, who has never posted since, made a thread. It said: "Why is my name on the weight of words website?" And it had a link to the weightofwords.com site,  which is now unaccesable. The poster's screen name was "invierno," which meant "winter" in Spanish. Winter was the word that linked Mikey's response to this strange post made by a guy who never posted in his life other than this one time.

In his board profile we found his name to be "Hector Garcia," but that was all. So we go to the website.




All it was was a menu of a restraunt's orders, which was later found out to be a Vegan restraunt that I've seen AFI at 8 or 9 billion times. (Truly Vegan) It had a list of names and their orders. There are five names on this menu and the each ordered something. Those names are:

Charlotte
Hector
Julian
Catherine
Georgia

On the menu, Hector is the first name on the list along with others. There is also latitude and longitude cordinates leading to the Pheonix Theature which is where AFI has had many shows. (I'm pretty sure it's what "Days of The Phoenix" is about.) Charlotte, being a name on the list, ordered the Breakfast of Champions (which is a mighty fine order from Truly Vegan, if you ask me.) This was also the title of the site. The number 17 (which was next to the order name for Breakfast of Champions) was actually a hyperlink; it led you to the new AFI website, which is how we knew charlotte was involved and that this was legitimate. It also had a phone number on the bottom, that when phoned gave you a message. We knew to call it because the number was: 1-337-935-0150. That damn number again. The message was of many people talking over each other; there were two distinct male voices and three distinct female voices. When some people called this number, they got calls back from this number: (000) 012-3456. It was nothing but a looped music track, a mumbling man, a woman counting, and a girl asking questions. I decided to transcribe what was being said:

Woman One: Ready?
Man One: One.
Man Two: Four.
Man One: One.
Woman One: Ready?
One Man Two: 8
Woman Two: 2...1....2
Man One: 0
Woman One: 9. Ready?
Woman Two: 2
Man One: 0
Woman One: What?...
Man Two: 8
Woman One: 9
Woman Two: 4...5
Man One: 1
Woman One: 9
Woman Two: 2
Man One: 0....1
Woman One: 9
Woman Two: 5...4
Man One: 1
Woman One: What?
Man Two: 3
Woman 3:-Ready?

Yeah. Fucking. Weird.

Now, when this message was looked at closer, we realized it was a message. "14, 1, 18, 21, 20, 9, 20, 18, 9, 4, 5, 19, 20, 19, 5, 4, 1, 13." Now, there were a few theories as to what these numbers meant. The actual file used in the message was taken from the Conet site (link please?), but AFI had taken some liberties in switching the numbers around and stretching them out to fit whatever needs they had.

The numbers awere also formatted in the formula of old radio spy codes, in which a number is first used to identify the addressee (which is probably us), and then to denote how many character groups there are following that. (In this case, 11.) When deciphered by an alphanumeric code, (A=1, B=2, etc.) it gave you the word "Narutitridestsedam," which when put into a web address took you to a new site: www.narutitridestsedam.com

Now the meaning of Narutitridestsedam: "Na Ruti tridest sedam" Means "On route 37" which pertains to the song "Rabbits are roadkill on route 37"

When we went to this site there was only a movie. It was of a person's head wrapped in bandages that are slowly unraveled by a mysterious hand. When it's unwrapped, the face is assumed to be Davey's by the lip ring. We see him mouthing words. What they found out was the words uttered by Davey were "Tell", "Charlotte", and "Nothing" which we found out to be Charlotte's Aim screen name: "Charlottenothing" Also at this time, there is a new message when calling charlotte's number. It said:

"Hi, this is Charlotte. If this is Georgia, I've been trying to reach you on I-M but I can't so leave your number so we can talk."

Listen to it here: http://www.gnbn.net/mats/audio/charlotte_georgia.mp3

The point of the video thus far was to get the AIM screen name charlottenothing (which we found out through what Davey was saying in the video as well as the phone message.)

Well days went by and we were without a clue until we got a message sent to us by Charlotte's screen name and it was the same message from Mikey Rhino's Myspace. DUN. DUN. DUN

This was the message sent to us:

"Prononcé comme une lettre
Mais constitué de trois
Elles ne sont que deux lettres
A faire partie de moi
Je suis unique et double
Je suis bleu, noir et gris,
Lisible dans les deux sens
Et la meme dans les deux directions."

It's French. The English translation:

"Pronounce as a letter
But constitutes of three
They are not but two letters to form part of me
I am single and double
I am blue, black and gray
Readable in the two directions
And the same one in the two directions."


Oh silly AFI! It's a riddle. It didn't take long for us to figure it out:  EYE.  So translate that into french, since that's the original language of the riddle, and you get the word unoeil. Put a www. and a .com on it and there you go, a new website to explore.
 
(At the same time, there was a new message on charlotte's answering machine that is now her current message. It is just noises and beeps.)

When you get to the site you find it's close to the other one; small, one window website with a flash display on it. Except this time instead of a movie you get a paragraph slowly being lit up. This is what the paragraph says:

"If you waste this day this pain will not open my eyes to cracked faces. To this nature I won’t deny. Will you believe in a boy hung in your room, cooling from within? I can’t. I just anticipate what awaits...darkness. Oh my beautiful one. I will hold onto your heart as I submerge. I will die drown. There will be no angels. There are no flowers. I’m on display my beloved. I’m on display."

Now I admit, this sounds like a suicide letter or something, but in reality these are just a bunch of davey's lyrics all mixed into one big story. For example,"There will be no angels. There are no Flowers," is from "This Time Imperfect" from Sing the Sorrow. "I just anticipate what awaits..." is part of an ending verse for "No Poetic Device" on Black Sails in the Sunset. And so on and so forth.

Now if you go back and look at the paragraph you notice that you can click on words, and when you scroll your mouse over them some glow and some don't. Misfits69 (Tom)  figured out that if you click on words in a specific order (DON'T, BELIEVE, PAIN) it led to a NEW website:

www.theprocessofseparation.com

The website was like the rest. It was one flash animation but this time it was a movie. A movie played backwards. The movie showed a message on a notepad scribbled out and played backwards. A hand, which is assumed to be Jade's, slowly unscribbles, and unwrites everything. When you get the whole message it says:

"Toronto Star Classified Antiques and Art. Plain Text Run Schedule 21 days. Five Flowers."

At this point, shit was just getting ridiculous. Website after website, riddle after riddle. Where the fuck was this going? Well 21 days on the spot, an ad was ran by someone named Charlotte and it read as such:

"Axis Comics and Records at ( address removed ). Place your orders with joe at (phone number removed)"

The number and address were removed for concealing purposes. Axis Comics and Records is affilated with AFI and confirmed in Sing the Sorrow's thank you credits. Naturally, we AFI fans are quite insane, so we asked Joe all sorts of vague questions about 5 Flowers. He said if we wanted to see the five flowers we would have to go see him in person at the store. At first account many of us thought this may be date rape, but because AFI fans are terribly devoted  we thought visiting the store was actually a lead in this mystery.  Only on the AFI board. The poster Justknish’s uncle was sent in and Joe hooked up a TV for him.

He was shown a DVD which apparently had Hunter from AFI driving through various streets and gave the directions:

Get In Car, Turn Left, Stop, Turn Right, Keep Strait, Turn Right, Dead End, Get Out Walk North, Trough Glass Door, Elevator Basement, Turn Right, Left Up Stairs, Walk In End Of Hall, Trough Door, Up The Stairs, and then Hunter hands you a red apple.

What the fuck? We spent some time researching through MapQuest and Google maps, seeing if these physical directions led us anywhere, but all to know avail. We felt that we were finally stumped.

About this time, Charlottenothing's Away Message said, "Myspacing," which led us to find her MySpace profile, which proved later to be a clue.

When we went to Charlotte's MySpace we found it to be like an ordinary profile. There are a few important factors to note here however:

-Her main picture was of a snowy, apparently dead tree
-Her caption read, "Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad."
-The caption of her only picture of the tree read, "Avenues lined with trees, strangled words for the day"
-She had one friend who was known as "Apple."

With that last note, you remember that Hunter was holding an Apple at the end of the Five Flowers DVD, so you go to click on Apple's myspace. ( Apple's Myspace: http://www.myspace.com/apple) You see a myspace at first until it quickly loads to another site.

www.theinterviewwitness.com

This site leads you to a movie like the rest. The movie starts off with someone sitting in a chair with a white bag over his head. There were blood-stained clothes hanging up on clotheslines and what appears to be rabbit skins. The person sitting with a white cloth over his head, who was recognized to be Adam by the tattoos on his arm, also had five flowers in his hand. The movie itself first hinted us to the idea of "The Five Flowers" being an actual clue, not just something Joe from Axis Comics referenced. However, in the background of the video, there are weird noises (something myself and other kids recognized as reversed music/words). When you use the audio ONLY and reverse it, we got this message:

"It was october 1971. Everything was hunkey dorey, and I was listening, when at eight, 2:04 end, I found what I was looking for."

The message was hard to decipher simply for it's outright absurdity. But lo and behold, the amazing AFI board figured it that it wasn't as obscure as we though. This message, like all the others, was to lead us to the next clue.

What we gathered was this: October 1971, David Bowie released an album called Hunkey Dorey. The eighth track was called, "Andy Warhol." So we go to that track, listen to the words said at 2:04 and get a next website. (Really.) The lyrics were, "Tie him up when he's fast asleep." Enter that into a website and you got our next clue. www.tiehimupwhenhesfastasleep.com

*A few notes:
-This meant that all four band members had been in one of the movies, a very significant thing to know.
-The five flowers that Adam put into a vase are said to be a rose, tulip, iris, lily, and a daisy.

The "Tie Me Up" site is flash and words only. The message reads:

"February 15th - February 27th
From South to North, West to East
No Fire Will Burn
But there will be blood."

The word "blood" was a hyperlink and took us to another part of the site. This time the message reads:

"Listen to Brandon but don't ask him
He who knows wears it on his sleeve.
He sells the rest to every guest,
if you propose the answer is free.
Any ring will do..."

Now we've finally concluded the answers to some of the paragraph and they are as follows:

-"No Fire will burn" There will be no AFI where this answers lies.
-"But there will be blood" But Bleeding through will be there
-"He sells the rest to every guest" Referring to the merchant selling AFI and BT merchandise
-"If you propose the answer is free, any ring will do." If you present a ring to the merchant and ask for an answer, you will be given one.

Now this was done by "Sleepingtodream" of the MB and he was given an answer.



He was given this pin.

Yeah. I don't know.

The answer the message board member was given was a pin that read nothing more than "Where are the five flowers?" Now if you think anything like we have been for the past months, you'll realize that's probably a website. In going to this website we used to get a message saying the website was "staging.",In the meantime Bleeding Through was added to Charlotte's friends list on myspace. After a month or so of waiting, finally there is a change in the site. We get a 404 error as if the site died, but press the back button on the page and a new window pops up. Like all the other sites, this website is also flash, but it is only a picture, a picture of the clandestine box from Sing the Sorrow. This is one of only two times that something from the previous mystery is referenced in this Charlotte business.

 First thing to notice is in the browser, you see the name of the picture file and it has a number in it (4403731238). When you call this number you get a British lady on the answering machine, one that sounds just the same to charlotte's old one. The message says:

"The person you are trying to reach is not available, please leave a message after the beep."

Now looking around the site, you see four squares around the four corners of the box. Click inside those squares and you get another window pop up, this time revealing quicktime media files. Each file is named after 1 of 4 differant characters: Hector, Georgia, Catherine, and Julian. These names can also be found in the Weight of Words menu, and were added to charlotte's myspace not long before "Where are the five flowers" came up. Each media file gave a number and clues. They are as follows:

Catherine: 646 736 1275 (New York)
-The number was found by playing with musical notes and converting them to numbers.
-When calling you hear a message adressed to Hector, speaking spanish, saying, "Leave a message. If this is Hector, I lost my connection, you can find me at Craig's."

Hector: 323 319 6237 (LA)
-Number found by counting beats in the mp3.
-When calling you hear a man saying, "I'm at Craig's. Where are you?"

Georgia: 415 373 6047 (SF)
-Number found by reversing audio, and converting French letters to numbers.
-When calling you hear "Julian, it's Georgia. This is it - it's ending! I'm losing my connection. Look for me at Craig's!"

Julian: 716 514 8870 (NY)
-Found by reversing the mp3 and turning the volume up really high.
-Mp3 almost exactly similar to Charlotte's.
(-A scream is heard in the end, assuming to be Juilian's scream while being killed. (I don't understand this reference.) <-- This is an iffy theory because the loud noise/"screaming" is on both Charlotte and Julian's mp3s.)
-When calling you hear, "This is Julian. We missed each other. I'll be at Craig's."

Charlotte: 805 624-6485 (Central Ca)
-Found kind of late in the game by reversing the mp3 and turning the volume up super high.
-Mp3 almost exactly similar to Julian's.
-You hear, "This is charlotte. Leave a voicemail. If this is Hector, find me at Craig's. And don't be late. There's not much time."


-Charlotte's mp3 wasn't found on the Clandestine box along with the other four (this may be significant later on), but since Charlotte was already a given, someone just added /charlotte.mp3 to the end of the mp3 addresses (wherearethefiveflowers.com/georgia.mp3, for example), and voila. (Thanks Oboeish.)

**Because Julian's phone number is from NY, and not Canada (more than likely for long distance reasons), and Charlotte's number is from Cali, and not Ohio, the phone numbers do not all match their myspace locations. It may be important to note, though, that both the phone number found on the page title of WATFF.com (440 373 1238 - the one with the British woman voice message), and Charlotte's myspace location are from Ohio.
 

And here comes the best part. Five ads were found on the wonderful website, www.craigslist.org. They are:

San Francisco: http://www.craigslist.org/sfc/mis/152101447.html

It's Georgia:

Julian,i hope you see this soon.
Meet me at
Axis Records and Comics
2877 Chapman
Oakland, CA
On Thursday the 20th between 4 and 6pm
bring me any of the five and don't forget your id
There's not much room, so get there before the supply runs out

Los Angeles: http://losangeles.craigslist.org/mis/152102042.html

It's Hector:

Georgia, i hope you see this soon. there is not much time.
Meet me on Thursday, 20th of April
Pan Pacific Park corner of Gardner and Beverly
dont judge a book by its cover.ill be holding flowers waiting for you
I'll only be there between 4pm and 6pm. bring me any of the five and
don't forget your id

There's not much room, so get there before the supply runs out

New York: http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/mis/152102652.html

It's Catherine:


Hector, i hope you see this soon
there is not much time

meet me on thursday 20th of April at
110 Greene St. #605
New York, NY 10012
ill only be there from 7-9pm
bring me any of the five and don't forget your ID

There's not much room, so get there before the supply runs out

Toronto: http://toronto.craigslist.org/mis/152103243.html

It's Julian:

Charolette - where are you ?
i hope you see this soon.
Meet me at 205 Lansdowne
on Thursday the 20th between 7 and 9 pm
bring me any of the five and don't forget your id
There's not much room, so get there before the supply runs out

Ventura: http://ventura.craigslist.org/mis/152103834.html

It's Charlotte:

Hector,
Meet me on Thursday, 20th of April
Ill only be there between 4pm and 6pm
Buffalo Records
2111 E Thompson Blvd
Ventura, CA
bring me any of the five and don't forget your id
There's not much room, so get there before the supply runs out

(I copied the text from all the ads because they'll expire soon.)

We all spent a good three days arguing. I'd say more than half of all the kids following the thread said these were fake, that this was too ridiculous, that this was too "out there." I guess it's understandable, when viewed from afar. Meeting strangers at Record Stores and parks? Give them a flower? Get something in return? Sounds like a perfect opportunity to either:

1) Rape a bunch of people.
2) Film a bunch of gothy hardcore kids and make fun of them on the internet.
3) Other acts of sadistic violence.

But you know what? Someone had to go to a comic book store to get a clue. And we'd been driven all over the internet. And we'd incessantly studied numerology, Buddhism, Time Codes, World War II secret codes, Roman history, and a bunch of other shit to find the next clue. Was this really so far-fetched?

So this is where I come in. Restless, I left work yesterday at a quarter to three and headed off to Pan Pacific Park. (It's actually about 5 minutes from my apartment. I didn't even know it existed! Now I have a new place to run at.) I was carrying a bag full of food/water/shit for the show that my band was playing later that day in Ventura at the Alpine.

(On a sidenote, if you've ever read any of my Metro Bus stories, the first one I ever wrote was about the bizarre mother/daughter combo who asked me to stop drinking blood. In a bizarre bout of coincidence, they were on the exact same bus as me that went down Beverly. They demanded an explanation for my Bad Religion Crossbuster tattoo and told me that while it was good that I don't drink blood, it doesn't matter because I don't believe in Jesus. So I should just start drinking blood.  ............................)

I arrived at the park just around 3:30. I met Major Tom (who had a bitchin' skateboard) and a few other board members. We were all weirded out by this whole concept and, even though we'd shown up, we still didn't know if this was real. I walked around the park and gathered the troops who were spread about the grounds of the park. The general consensus? Someone better fucking show up or we'd all feel like fools.

Stacy (slyabney) and I walked around the park for a bit, trying to see if we could find "Hector," but it was too no avail. And that's when, about 5 minutes later, we see Smith walking down the street. (He is Jade's brother and Roadie Extraordinaire.) He seems to be avoiding us and he keeps walking up and down the street in front of the park that runs perpendicular to it.

He finally comes to the parking lot and we approach him. He tells us he's there to do homework (he had a binder full of papers). When someone asks him if we were supposed to give him flowers, he told us he wasn't the person, BUT the person was in the park and that we were actually very close to them.

Behind us, sitting up against the wall, was a blonde-haired girl reading a book, with a boquet of flowers sitting beside her. "Don't judge a book by its cover...." We should have known!




This is what we received for giving a flower:



April 28th. Henry Fonda Theatre. Guaranteed passes into a show.

What.
The.
Fuck.

It was real. All these fucking clues, all the haters saying we were insane. And the 25 or so of us show up to a park in Hollywood, flowers in hand, and we get free passes to a Private Event with AFI. THAT FUCKING RULES SO MUCH!

UPDATE 4/27 (From ernie1one):


New York passes:



San Francisco Pass:



Links: In Order as they Appear
http://www.myspace.com/mikey_rhinoceros - Mikey Rhino's Myspace
http://board.despairfaction.com/showthread.php?t=49679 - Invierno's thread to Weight of Words
http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y15...Random/boc.jpg - Weight of Words Menu
http://afireinside.net - AFI's official Website
http://www.narutitridestsedam.com - Davey's Muttering Words Video
http://www.unoeil.com - Paragraph of Many Lyrics
http://theprocessofseparation.com - Jade's Handwriting Video
http://www.youtube.com/watch.php?v=jFPukyM9g34 - Hunter's Directions Video
http://www.myspace.com/charlottenothing - Charlotte's Myspace
http://www.theinterviewwitness.com - Adam's Flower Video
http://tiehimupwhenhesfastasleep.com - Bowie's Lyrics and the Bleeding through Involvement
http://tiehimupwhenhesfastasleep.com/blood.html - Blood half with Instructions
http://www.wherearethefiveflowers.com - 404 Error Site
http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y15...dom/BUTTON.jpg - Pin given to those who propsed
http://media.putfile.com/hector-323-319-6237 - Hector's Phone Message
http://media.putfile.com/title-440373-1238-57 - 440 Number's Message
http://media.putfile.com/georgia-415-373-6047 - Georgia's Phone Message
http://media.putfile.com/catherine-646-736-1275 - Catherine's Phone Message
http://media.putfile.com/julian-716-514-8870 - Julian's Phone Message
http://h1.ripway.com/Nuviremus/Georgia_Reverse.mp3 - Georgia's Audio Reversed
http://h1.ripway.com/Nuviremus/Hector_Reverse.mp3 - Hector's Audio Reversed
http://media.putfile.com/juliansnumber
http://media.putfile.com/charlottesnumber
Numbers sites:
http://home.freeuk.com/spook007/
#21 is the weird music box that some people got called back with, before the numbers.
http://www.archive.org/details/ird059
This is the one that most of the voices were taken from, I think. (Thanks, Desiree, for these last two links.)



Credits for some info goes to etoile of the Despair Faction
Credits for the Websites and the mystery itself goes to AFI and Interscope Records
Credits for the summary goes to Sephirothox of the Despair Faction.
Credits for the phone message links goes to Alli, Moderator of the AFI MB
Credits for the "Where are the five flowers" Phone descriptions goes to Oboeshi of the Despair Faction
Credits for links go to the members of the Despair Faction and those involved with the mystery on the board.
Credits for Axis Record's DVD goes to SaraPlate
Credits for Georgia's Number goes to Infatuation & MPS of the Despair Faction
Credit goes to Oboeish for the wonderful corrections!!!

Thank you. Thanks for everyone for putting so much intelligent thought and heart into this. I appreciate it.

I will edit this as more information is provided and we learn more about this mystery.

......eat Multi-Grain Wheat Things with Trader Joe's Hummus Dip.

And I won't complain one bit.

That's all.

Hi, 2006. We haven't been acquainted long. Only about four and a half months. You've been a pretty decent year. You're rivaling 2005, which was a pretty good year for me. But this year, I've played some unforgettable shows, made a great new friend, found some new bands, and generally enjoyed life. You've also thrown unemployment, a mugging, and some fights my way. Not bad, though. Not bad. You're fairing pretty well.

I just have one request, 2006. We have a bit of time together before our relationship is tragically and inevitably terminated. However, you have done something that I just can't handle right now:

Stop with the good music.

2005 was...ok. Not too great, not too bad. A lot of shit, some mediocre albums, a handful of really great albums. Yet, we're coming up on our 5 month anniversary and you throw all this at me:

Betrayed/Champion Split EP
Blue Monday/Go It Alone Split EP
Crime In Stereo - The Troubled Stateside
Defiance, Ohio - The Great Depression
Good Clean Fun - Between Christian Rock and A Hard Place
Ignite - Our Darkest Days
Iron Age - Constant Struggle
The Lawrence Arms - Oh Calcutta!
Lifetime - Somewhere In The Swamps of Jersey
The Loved Ones - Keep Your Heart
Mogwai - Mr Beast
Morrissey - Ringleader of the Tormentors
No Trigger - Canyoneer
None More Black - This Is Satire
P.O.S. - Audition
Peeping Tom - Peeping Tom
Raised Fist - Sound of the Republic
Sick of it All - Death To Tyrants
Thursday - A City By The Light Divided
Tool - 10,000 Days

These are 20 albums I listen to regularly. Sometimes fanatically. And they were all released this year. What the fuck? Give me some breathing room, 2006! I still haven't even heard the new albums for A.F.I., Murder By Death, Lattermen, or Good Riddance! And there are still more to come!

Take a deep breath, 2006. Pace yourself. Because this is already turning out to be one of the best years for music EVER. (For me, atleast.) I don't want you to be burnt out by the time December rolls around.

Yours truly,
Mark

And we all know that if there is a Hell, I will have a special circle made just for me.

Last week, I spent a good deal of time trying to obtain my birth certificate from the state so that I could get a replacement identification card from the DMV. (Back story: I got mugged at gunpoint March 1st and my wallet was stolen. I don't drive, but I'd like to have an ID so that if a fundamentalist Christian annihilates me or if someone on the Metro throws me out of a bus window, someone might be able to ID the body. And to get into....bars....and stuff.) I wasted two full mornings at various offices around downtown Los Angeles and apparently, I do not exist. I have no birth certificate on record. Turns out, when my twin and I were born, the County Registrar only entered ONE or our birth certificates. (My brother's.) I ended up getting mine by finding his. This took 72 hours. I went to the DMV last Friday to attempt to get my ID. Lo and behold, the woman who gave me my birth certificate FORGOT TO GIVE IT AN OFFICIAL STAMP. So it was not valid.

Which leads up to today. I obtained my original birth certificate from my parents on Zombie Jesus Day because I went to go visit them after my show on Saturday. It's official. I can use it.

I woke up at 7:00AM this morning. I took a lovely and refreshing shower, shaved my head, gathered up what I was going to need this morning, and hopped on the 212 South on La Brea. From there, I got off on San Vicente and waited for the 550 line, which would head into L.A. and lead me to my final destination.

I was sitting in the rear of a moderately full bus when the guy next to me starts talking. Loudly. I turn down Ignite and glance to my left. An older white man wearing a slightly off-white polo shirt is waving maniacally, pointing, screaming, and generally causing a ruckus. He's got an orange in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. His beard is the same color as his shirt; there's no grey in it. His unkempt appearance would leave me to believe that he's the type most people ignore on the bus when they start to ramble. But he actually had the attention of a good majority of the riders on the bus, so, naturally, I take my headphones off to hear what he's got to say.

"Fuck the terrorists! Fuck Osama bin Laden! I'm a fuckin' American, you can't look at me that way!"

Whatever way he's talking about, I think I gave him that look. He turns to me and says, "You're not a terrorist, are you?"

I laughed in his face. "No," I replied. "I most definitely am NOT a terrorist."

"But you've got the beard. HOW DO I KNOW YOU AREN'T A TERRORIST?"

I laugh at him again. "What constitutes a terrorist, sir? What possible qualifying signs may lead you to think that a person is a terrorist?"

He squints at me. There is a brief silence. He studies my face again. "Well....lots of them have beards. Yeah! When you watch the terrorists on TV, they all have beards! You have a beard!  YOU ARE A TERRORIST! TERRORIST! TERRORIST!"

He continues to scream "TERRORIST!" at me while I start laughing at this hilariously ridiculous display of logic. Am I dreaming? Because this is far too AWESOME to be happening right in front of me. I decide to humor him further.

Still laughing, I manage to press him some more. "So, what else about me makes you think I'm a terrorist?"

He doesn't respond at first. He squints at me again, as if he's studying the lines in my face like a palm reader. He scans my eyes and then looks at the guy sitting next to me. I was leaning forward, so the strange man could see the guy next to me by looking behind me. He leans forward and places his coffee cup next to his mouth in an attempt to muffle what he's about to say. He doesn't seem to realize that without whispering, I can still hear every word he's saying.

He leans close to my neighbor, behind my back, and says, "He's totally a terrorist, right?"

Baffled, I stand up and head towards the midsection of the bus. As amusing as this little interplay is, I just don't want to deal with it anymore. The older man starts screaming again. "TERRORIST TERRORIST TERRORIST!" I laugh under my breath and face forwards; my stop is coming up.

And that's when the man's orange hits me square in the back.

I spin around, glaring, to see him stand up and point at me. "Get off the bus, al Qaeda! You don't belong in America! TERRORIST!" He looks at my ex-neighbor, his eyes pleading. "He's a terrorist!!!!"

Now I'm not so amused. "Did you just throw an orange at me? As an offensive maneuver?"

"Oh, listen to you and your big words! Don't try to confuse me, terrorist! You're probably related to bin Laden!"

I sigh and turn back around. I pull the pen I have in my pocket out and start clicking the lid open and shut. I do that when I'm bored or frustrated. I'm not even going to acknowledge such idiocy. Of course, that's when I see the man's coffee cup go flying past my face and erupt when it hits the window next to me. And, in some bizarre homosexual fury, I flick my wrist and throw my pen at the guy. And, of course, he uses that as evidence in his new found campaign against me. "SEE? I TOLD YOU HE WAS A TERRORIST! LOOK! HE TRIED TO KILL ME!"

Completely unamused and thoroughly annoyed, I get off at Exposition Blvd and Figueroa. I could still hear the man yelling at people on the bus and I fully expected some other object to be thrown at me. Alas, such was not my luck. (Yet.)

I walk down Exposition and walk under the 110 FWY to the DMV, which is just on the other side of it. I walk in the front doors, past atleast 15 people loitering outside. (I soon remember why everyone looks so confused outside of the DMV.)

I gleefully circumvent the entire line of over 100 people and head to the one-person-long line made up of all the genius people (like myself) who made an appointment. I arrive at 8:35 (five minutes early!) and the nice woman behind the desk hands me the form I need to fill out.

I put my hand on my right pocket to grab my pen and I realize it's probably on the floor of the 550 bus currently headed to San Pedro down the 110 FWY. "Do you have a pen I can borrow?" I politely ask.

She points behind me. "There are pens all along the wall. You can use one of those."

Relieved, I turn around and head to the spot I'm supposed to fill out the DL44 form. There's no pen at the spot near the entrance, so I head to my right, dodging unwatched children, and look for a pen. There are none on the south wall. I look on the west wall. None there. Confused, I walk to the opposite side of the wall and discover, to my joy, that there are no pens there either.  I walk back up to the front desk and, when the woman is done talking, I say, "There aren't any pens on the wall. They're all gone."

Without a beat, she says, "Then you should have brought one." She moves on to the next person.

Damn. I turn back to the south wall by the entrance and walk over to an overweight man wearing a suit and I ask him if I can borrow his pen when he's done. He slowly looks up at me with a look of pure disgust. "No," he replies. "Learn to bring your own. Why would you come to the DMV without a pen?"

A simple, "No," would have sufficed and I certainly didn't want to relate the terrorist story to him, so I move along. I get basically the same reaction from everyone else. Everyone gapes at me, either because they can't speak English or because...well, perhaps I really do look like a terrorist. A bit frustrated, I decide to just ask everyone at once.

I raise my voice and ask the entire group of people sitting and waiting to be called to a window, "Does anyone have a pen I can borrow?"

Everyone stares at me. No one says anything. Discouraged, I slump against the wall. A man in a bright blue security suit approaches me. "Sir, I cannot have you raise your voice in here. You must keep your voice at room level."

"All right," I reply. "I just need to find a pen."

"Sir, I don't need an attitude from you. Just keep your voice down."

What? Is he serious? I hadn't even raised my voice this time. "I'm not giving you an attitude. I just needed a pen."

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you keep this up."

What? He can't possibly be serious! "Keep what up? I'm not doing anything."

He grabs my left arm and starts pulling me towards the exit. "Come with me," he orders.

Completely stumped, I comply with only a tiny bit of resistance. He pulls me out of the front doors and I have to squint from the bright sunlight. He turns to face me. "I don't appreciate your attitude, sir, and I don't appreciate your distaste for authority. I don't need that shit."

I have no idea how to react to this. I stand there and stare at him for a few seconds, my mouth slightly agape. "Are you going to say anything?" he demands. "Anything?"

Because this is so baffling and because I've been reduced to the fetal state, all I can say is, "Well....do you have a pen I can borrow?"

He stares at me in a murderous craze. "Don't come back. For an hour. Go find a pen and come back after an hour. You're banned. For an hour. Just fucking leave."

"Are you banning me from the DMV? Can you even do that?"

All he says is, "Don't come back for an hour." Then he turns back into the building.

I want to call someone. I want someone standing close to me to say something, to acknowledge how ludicrous this is. But the DMV really is one giant den of apathy, so, amid a bunch of hateful stares, I begin my trek to find a pen.

I walk east on Exposition, cross back under the freeway, and stop at the gas station on Figueroa and Exposition. I go inside, after nearly being hit by an SUV, and realize it's not as big as I thought it would be. The outside made it look like one of those full-service stations where you can actually buy peanut butter and WetNaps at. But I get inside and all I can buy is water, some chips, sunflower seeds and a gauge to check the air on the tires.

I ask the attendent behind the window if they have any pens. "I have a pen," he responds.

"Awesome," I say. "Can I borrow it?"

“No.”

“Just for like….five minutes. I guarantee it won’t take me longer than that.”

He stares at me, like so many have done and are going to do during my wonderful, wonderful morning.

I leave the gas station in frustration and continue heading east on Exposition. I walk onto the USC campus, because I figure…well, what the fuck. It’s a university. They have to have pens. Lots of them. Hell, I may not even have to buy one.

I head past the Law School, which is on my right and when I come to Trusdale, I turn right, heading towards the main courtyard on campus. Right where Trusdale and Child’s Way intersect, there is a fountain that sits flush with the ground and has about six benches surrounding it. Kind of a neat architectural feature, since there is no wall surrounding the fountain. I don’t think twice of it and I walk through the bench circle and cut off going around it. I don’t walk through the fountain itself, just right next to it.

I immediately hear a loud WHOOP WHOOP and see a campus security guard roll up to me on his golf cart. Fucking. Great. Just what I need. “You can’t walk through the fountain,” he tells me in an authoritative voice. He needs to because he’s about 20 years old. His adam’s apple protrudes too much and his face is covered with acne.  His nappy blonde hair is poking out from the dark red USC cap he’s got placed awkwardly on his head. He was a lanky fellow and I could tell that just from looking at the way he sat in the golf cart seat. Essentially, he’s the least authoritative figure I’d ever seen.

“I didn’t walk through the fountain.”

“Yes you did. I just saw you.”

I don’t have time for this. “If I had walked through the fountain itself, wouldn’t I be wet from…you know…all the water?”

“You have to walk around the fountain.”

I give up. “OK, OK, fine, I won’t do it again.” I start to walk down Child’s Way because I think I see the Campus Bookstore.

“Where are you going?” The guy is following me on the golf cart.

“To the bookstore.”

“Can I see your student ID?”

I whirl back to him. “Why do you need to see my ID card?”

“Can I see your student ID?”

Exasperated, I yell at him, “NO. NO. You cannot see it. Go away.” I continue walking briskly, as I’m approaching the bookstore.

“I need to see your ID.”

In a moment of anger, I say the stupidest thing. “Just leave me alone! Why don’t you bother someone who actually goes to this fucking school?”

He stops his cart. I stop walking. There is a moment where we look each other in the eye. He realizes I’m not a student. I realize that I’m a total idiot. I turn back and continue walking hurriedly as I hear him radio in for backup. (He used the word “backup.” I am not making that up.)

I turn into the bookstore, drop off the bag I’m carrying and head towards the back. Pen, pen, pen, pen, where the fuck are the pens? Why can’t I find the pens? It’s a fucking bookstore, they have to have pens by default. I walk past a Da Vinci Code display, stare behind shelves, and generally appear lost. I head back to the front of the store. There are no pens. In a bookstore. None at all. I head up the escalator to the second floor. I dash from one side of the room to the other. Cliff Notes. USC clothing. Bookmarks. No pens. No fucking pens.

What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK? WHY ARE THERE NO PENS? WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS BOOKSTORE? Fuck, I am so glad I didn’t end up going here.

A bookstore employee starts to approach me. I don’t want to talk to her. I jump on the escalator next to me, even though I have no idea where it goes. I watch behind me, to see if she’s following me. She’s not. I face forward and then a little part of me died inside.

I was in pen heaven. Hundreds of them. Fuck, probably thousands of them. Different colors. Gel pens. Ball point. Those cheap Bic pens that you buy 800 of in August in preparation for your first day of school, only to loan out 790 of them, lost 9 more, and chew the top of that last one until you’ve got blue ink running down your face. All pens.

I slowly approach the display and pull out a Uni-Ball Vision pen. A high quality writing utensil; in fact, it’s nearly identical to the pen I had thrown at the guy on the 550, but this is a 2006 version. I am in awe.

My thought process went something like this:

This is a really nice pen.

Man, it’s $3.00. For a pen. I mean, it’s a nice pen, but I really don’t want to pay $3.00 for it.

Man, this is a nice pen. I can write so much neater with a pen like this. I really like filling out forms too. And I could fill out the form with so much more satisfaction if I had a pen like this.

Fuck. This pen is $3.00.

30 seconds later, I’m walking out of the front door with my bag and the most beautiful pen I’ve ever seen. I see the douchebag campus security geek waiting for me. “You have to leave the campus now,” he tells me.

“Ok,” I say, smiling. “I’m leaving now. I just needed to get a pen.”

I strut my way off campus and head back down Exposition towards the DMV. I stop at the bus stop on Figueroa and Exposition, pull out a book from my bag, and fill out the form right then and there. FUUUUCCCCCKKKK. So satisfying. Once I finish it, I head east for one more block and walk through the doors of the DMV, a smile plastered on my face. I walk up to the counter I had been at initially, hand the woman at the desk my form, and she gives me my number and tells me to go sit down and wait until I’m called.

I walk over to the area where I had previously “caused a scene” and there is only one seat left, in between a large black woman and a 16 year old Japanese girl. I squeeze through them and sit down and pull out The Plague and start reading.

The interesting thing about the DMV is that everyone has to go there. Everyone. Of all races, education levels, religions, philosophies, classes, etc. I hold the general opinion that 75% of the entire population is a complete idiot. At the DMV, that number is slightly inflated to about 99.8%. I failed to realize this until it was too late.

The large black woman, who is on my right, taps me on the shoulder. I look at her and she asks, “So….are you, like, a Satanist?”

I sigh. “No. I’m not. If I don’t believe in God, then I can’t believe in Satan either.” I turn back to my book.

She taps me on the shoulder again. “So what do you believe in?”

I stop reading. “Not much of anything, really. I guess I haven’t found anything that makes enough sense for me to ‘believe in,’ really.”

She pauses for a second. “So….you don’t…like…worship Satan?” I glare at her. “I’m sorry, it’s just that my pastor told me people like you worship Satan.”

I choose to avoid the obvious implications of such a statement, so all I say is, “Well, you’re pastor’s wrong.” I go back to reading.

I can tell, out of the side of my eye, that she’s getting antsy. She turns to me again and says, “But my pastor can’t be wrong. He’s anointed by God.”

“Maybe so,” I reply, “But I’m proof that he’s wrong.”

She hesitates again. “Maybe you’re wrong.”

“What? I think I would know if I worshipped Satan. I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Of course I’m sure. How would I not know that I worship Satan?”

She doesn’t say anything, so I turn back to Rieux and his indifference. I read about a page when she speaks up again. “I think you worship Satan.”

“No. I don’t. What do I have to do to prove to you that I don’t worship Satan?”

Wrong.
Answer.

Her eyes light up and I see this sparkle suddenly pass over her.  “Pray with me! Oh my, please pray with me!”

“No thanks,” I say. “I don’t believe in God, so praying wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Oh, but you have to! That will prove to me that you don’t worship Satan! You can’t pray to God if you’re a Satanist, because your skin will burn up!”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You do realize there is more to life than CHRISTIAN and SATANIST, right?”

She just laughs me off and pulls a Bible out of her gargantuan purse. “Oh, I know the perfect passage to read!” she exclaims. She starts humming to herself and I look up at the screen announcing what number is next. I have atleast 15 people to go before it’s my turn.

“Look,” I say, interrupting her search. “I appreciate you wanting to pray with me. Really I do. I like that you’re so passionate about your beliefs that you want to share them with me. But really, I’m fine. I don’t want to pray, but I assure you that I am NOT a Satanist.”

She looks at me, just a bit defeated. “But this is the perfect test! I have to do this or I will never know.”

“But what does it even matter?” I counter. “You’re never, ever going to see me again. What does it matter if you never know?”

She gives me puppy dog eyes. Her eyes water up. I can’t help myself.

“Fine,” I say. “Give me the Bible. I’ll read a paragraph from it and prove to you that if I speak the word of God and hold a Bible, I’m not going to burn up.” Ecstatic, she hands me the Bible, a giant smile spreading across her face.

I flip open the book and start reading from Luke. “Then Jesus went with them. And when he was now not far from the house, the centurion sent friends to him, saying unto him, Lord, trouble not thyself: for I am not worthy that thou shouldest enter under my roof…”

Remember that Japanese girl sitting next to me? Yeah, at the exact time I was coming to the end of Luke 7:6, she leans back in her chair and brings it down on my foot. I’m wearing Converse, which have virtually no protection from the outside world, and the chair leg lands directly on the big toe on my right foot.

Naturally, I cry out in pain and drop the Bible. “What the fuck?” I say to the girl, who stares at me innocently, still on my foot. I yank it out from under the chairleg, turn back to the woman and……


She’s terrified. That gleam? That sparkle in her eye? Gone. “Oh my God. Oh my God. It is true. YOU ARE A SATANIST! The word of the Lord has hurt you!”

“No, no, that’s not what happened! She put her chair down-“

The lady won’t let me finish. Her breathing becomes labored and she starts to mumble prayers. “Help his soul, Lord, help his soul!” 

I turn back to the girl who smashed my foot. And guess who’s standing next to her?

My favorite security guard.

“Sir, I thought I told you to keep your voice at room level.”

I sit down and whisper, “I’m sorry. My foot got crushed under the chair. It hurt. I yelled.” I don’t say anything else.  He stares at me for a few seconds and then walks away.

I turn back to my Christian acquaintence and she’s mortified of me. “I am not a Satanist,” I tell her. “I swear to you.”

Reluctant, she says, “Will you swear to God that you’re not a Satanist?”

“No. I don’t believe in God. It wouldn’t mean anything.”

She sits back in her chair and faces forward. “I have nothing more to say to you.” Pause. “Satanist.”

At that moment, I hear “F022, please go to window number one. F022, please go to window number one.”

I gather my things and, on my way over to the window, I realize I’ve been accused of being a terrorist and a Satanist in a single two-hour period. I’m upset and I can’t take anymore of this. I just want a normal experience and I’m sick of people unable to understand basic concepts of humanity and how we all happen to be just a bit different from everyone else.

Thankfully, getting my ID card happened to be no hassle and I was done in less than 10 minutes. I had to walk past Christian Acquaintence on the way out and she sneered at me and muttered, “Satanist,” under her breath.

Ready to begin my work day, I left the DMV a little after 10:00am. On my way out, I accidently bumped into a man wearing a nicely pressed suit who was rushing in. “Sorry,” I say.

And I swear to you, all the man said was. “That’s ok. Do you have a pen I could borrow?”

Fuck. That.

From:bbcoach1
Date:04/07/2006 03:03
Subject:hello

Message:Just wanted to send a quick message to you to say hi. I just signed up so i have had no time to fill anything out as of yet. But I will be filling it out within the next couple of days. I am a 40 year old teacher from north dakota. I like all kinds of sports and pretty much anything that keeps me acting.


That's a new message. He has no picture and didn't fill out his profile, so none of the good stuff.

But our previous conservative hunk wrote me back!

From:bobgo2627
Date:04/06/2006 09:10
Subject:Re: Re: Hi there

Message:well it is up to you which one you might want to use. I use all three of them. I am also happy to meet you as well.

Looks like I'll have to sign up for a new AIM name. Any suggestions?

My first message on Hannidate is from a steaming hot hunk in Nebraska!



Yes, that is the almighty TONYA HARDING standing next to him. I'm in love.

Here are some gems from his profile:

Well what can I say here, I mean I dress in slacks and t-shirts most times and shorts and blue jeans when they are not in the wash. I also am a former weight lifter from my High School days but that was 9 years ago and have not really gone back to it. I like to be conservative with my atire as I hate people who wear pants that show their rears or underwear. I think the only person to see that is me and my doctor. I mean come on it is just nasty.

I am seeking some one who is open to dating a Midwestern person. I want some one to know that here in Nebraska we do not have to face of with the Indians, just turn coats like Chuck Hagel. I want some one who is open to my beliefs. I am a Catholic and proud to be. I am a person who attends mass every Sunday and is happy to be there. I want someone who is not ashamed to date some one who might be a little out spoken or is afraid to tell me some times to shut up. I want someone who is not ashamed to vote and vote pro-life. I attend every year our Nebraska Walk for Life and even when it is 20 degrees out I bundle up and show my belief that deaths of unborn babies will not stand.

[Not that that specific belief is funny, but that sentence is simply hilarious.]

He wrote me this:

Hi there, I was just looking into your profile and would like to know a little more about you. If you get a free moment to chat lets.  

Do you currently us any of the IM clients like AIM, MSN, or Yahoo? If you do get me your user ID and we can chat.

Take care and have a nice day.

I replied:


Why thank you for writing me! That is so terribly flattering. I would love to chat with you, especially about your inspiring, frigid walks for life! It's pretty cold out here in Philly, too, but fortunately spring is right around the corner.

I currently do not have any instant message handles, but I could sign up for one. Which one is best for you? I'll sign up for that one.

Talk to soon and nice to make your acquaintence.

I will totally make an AIM/MSN name to chat with him. And I will post that conversation here.

This is part of a post I made on a messageboard and it succinctly ties up what I feel about the border issue:

"I personally find the border issue to be a non-issue. I don't understand this archaic idea the world still clings to that cultures and ethnicities must stay on their side of an invisible line. It baffles me and it always has. But I realize how unrealistic such a viewpoint is. So moving on....

For those who feel that we should close up our borders, that these people truly are felons (that's what this law would make them!), and that we need a stricter enforcement of border/immigration policies, I ask a simple question: Where's the humanity in that? It's so easy to marginalize and talk about these people as some ambiguously dangerous group of people and forget that you're talking about fucking HUMAN BEINGS. Yeah, I'm sure there are people coming from south of the border to use our country for their own gain. Once again, what's wrong with that? Because, by chance, they were born on the other side of our invisible line, they don't deserve a life of happiness and opportunity simply by default? That these people have to earn this freedom and happiness?

Well, what the fuck? What makes us so special that we automatically get a chance at a wonderful life, while other people suffer? In fear of using a political cliche, what the fuck have you done for people in other countries who aren't blessed with our nationality?

The truth of the matter is that I bet the vast majority of those who are anti-immigration are also very Amero-centric: Thiscountry is great. I care about other human beings because I am a compassionate member of the human race. But wait.....that person lives on the other side of the "border" and he wants to come here and earn a meager subsistence wage and suffer at the hands of a vast capitalistic regime which is, ironically, better than where he came from? FUCK THAT. Deport his ass. I don't want him taking MY money and using MY unemployment and MY jobs.

That's right. The jobs you would NEVER do that are paid with wages you COULDN'T live on. These people are no-good, ungrateful bastards! Nevermind that in their quest for the American Dream, they've become enslaved by their masters in some bizarre, indefinite indentured servitude.

The tension? The anger? The fury? You see it at every one of these protests. Yeah, there are a lot of dicks and douchebags and people who are reverse racists and those who have no idea why they're marching. Even the people who shout, "MEXICO IS #1!" above the crowd have tapped into something that I've seen coming for years: the immigrant community is beginning to realize what they're worth, both to themselves and to the government who scorns them. They are simply pawns, disposable labor, terrorists in the eyes of those above them. And yet, they're beginning to actualize the power they truly hold, because much of this economy sits directly on top of them; hell, I'd even say it depends on them.

Every argument that I've heard that is anti-immigration is ignorant, egocentric, archaic, or racist. That goes for everyone in this thread, as well. Guess what? The world doesn't revolve around any of you and what you care about when it comes to governmental policy or lawmaking. Think about it. This same government that you love so much, the one you want all to yourself, didn't even consult you when it made the very law you're debating about. It completely circumvented you and your opinion, when it comes down to it, means absolutely nothing to anyone in Washington. And this is the same government you want to snatch up and hoarde in your corner, lashing out at every desperate soul who merely asks for just one tiny sliver of it to survive?

Fuck you."

I thought this site was fake. It's very real.

http://web1.hannity.com/hannidate/index.php?page=index

Conservative dating!

So, in my ever-growing obsession with being as inappropriate as possible on the internet, I'm signing up. My name is Roberta. I'm from the United States. I'm 31 years old. I'm looking for a conservative lover with a big heart and a big mind. All responses shall be posted here.

To be updated as the fun happens!

UPDATE:  Here are the gems from my profile.

Photo:


I am absolutely adorable!

General Information: 
Conservative intellectual who enjoys the good life. I love music, discussing politics, hanging out with my dog, and I love my job. Most importantly, I love MY God. :)

Appearance
Fairly slim blonde women. Definitely conservative clothing style. I'm about 6 foot tall, around 160 lbs. I'm an athletic woman and I love playing volleyball!

Looking for
I'm definitely looking for a GENTLEMEN and nothing less. I will only date another conservative (naturally!) and a fellow intellectual. It's important that we first and foremost share these ideals. I'm looking for someone who is an involved and informed citizen, but also a man who knows how to treat a lady to a good night on the town.