Teh Interview

The following is an interview conducted in Manhattan on December 25, 2014 with the Islamic State’s Communications Director, Sir Isaac Newburgh. Despite the stigma attached to the Islamic State as a cabal of Stone Age thugs, the organization does have a sophisticated, 21st century dimension. It’s particularly, and curiously, adroit at communicating its message, if it has one, using The Net to include social media. We thought it only fitting that an in depth interview with the person responsible for this sophisticated dimension of a brutal and murderous organization would help shed some light on this popular enigma referred to by many acronyms (IS, ISIS & ISIL) under the comprehensive banner of the Islamic State. As you read the transcript, try, as difficult as it may be, to keep an open mind.

Cold N. Holefield: I’d like to thank you Sir Isaac Newburgh for taking the time to sit down with me this afternoon for what I hope will be an enlightening interview.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: You can skip the formalities — let’s get straight to it, shall we?

Cold N. Holefield: As you wish. But before we dive deeper, I have to ask, what’s up with the name Sir Isaac Newburgh? It’s not a name one would expect to see attributed to a member of a group generally referred to as the Islamic State.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: You Americans place too much emphasis on names. Names are not important. Ideas are what’s important and the actions that flow from those ideas, or the inactions.

Cold N. Holefield: Fair enough, but you still chose a name when you could have no name at all, so why did you choose Sir Isaac Newburgh?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Very well then, if you really must know, I chose the Sir Isaac part of it because it was the Arabs & Persians who invented gravity long before your Sir Isaac Newton did. Every achievement you Westerners claim as your own was the purview of a highly evolved and enlightened Middle Eastern past — a glorious and enlightened past The West is content on usurping as its own.

Cold N. Holefield: I’m fairly certain gravity isn’t something that’s invented, but rather an independent (from human powers of creation) physical law that’s observed and then explained formulaically. It’s not something that’s invented and then coveted and exploited.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Nonsense. It is invented just as surely as your reality and my reality is invented. Reality, and all the multitude of realities reality contains, is an invention — a fantasy. Life is just a fantasy, can you live this fantasy life?

Cold N. Holefield: Wow, that’s some heavy shit. Have you been reading my blog?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Of course I’ve been reading your blog — that’s why I’ve granted you this interview. So please, rain on my little black raincloud — the honey tree is in reach.

Cold N. Holefield: You’re freaking me out a little bit.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: A little bit? Be honest — I’m freaking you out a lot. You better hope you still have some semblance of sanity by the time this interview is concluded.

Cold N. Holefield: Considering your Aldo Nova “reality/life is a fantasy” theory, it therefore holds that Allah is an invention, does it not?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Do you like that pretty little head of your’s, you honey-obssessed bear faggot disguised as a rain cloud?

Cold N. Holefield: It’s not so little and it’s not pretty and what do you have against harmless Pooh? It figures you would resort to hatred and rage and threats of violence. That’s what you and your fabulous friends are all about, afterall.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: No, it’s not what we’re about. That’s where you’re wrong, Cold. We are but discarded plastic cola bottles caught in the precarious and capricious currents of a great and mighty river. The myriad of competing currents don’t define us, but they do move us to and fro, bro. Sometimes the current is hateful, raging and murderous and other times the current is compassionate, embracing and merciful and there are currents that represent everything in between on that spectrum. It’s typically Western and American of you to define and corner someone based on the effect of just one current at one point in time. To do so is to entangle that person in a self-destructive perpetual eddy from which it’s nearly impossible to escape using Western perceptual constructs. It’s why your prisons are so full. A moment ago I expressed my disdain and disgust with the famous Pooh, but currently, meaning at this precise moment, I feel sympathy and empathy for a creature incapable of overcoming its tragic obsession with honey. Only in The West could an obsessed, gluttonous, clearly homosexual bear be a popular and respected character in a children’s book. Look at the results — you’re all a bunch of fat fucks and being gay is increasingly a rite of passage for many teens.

Cold N. Holefield: I’m not fat and I’m not gay.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: A few exceptions don’t negate the rule.

Cold N. Holefield: If life/reality is just a fantasy, as you say, what’s so wrong with choosing an obsessively gluttonous and gay lifestyle as your fantasy? You and your comrades like lots of wives, whereas many Americans like lots of Happy Meals. What’s the difference if it’s just a fantasy?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Happy Meals can’t suck dick, that’s the difference. When will you learn? Never, that’s when.

Cold N. Holefield: Okay, this line of reasoning and inquiry is going nowhere, so let’s move on. What about the Newburgh part of the name Sir Isaac Newburgh? What does it signify?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Lobster Newberg is my all-time favorite dish.

Cold N. Holefield: Oh come on now, you’re a desert dweller where lobster is hardly in abundance. How can Lobster Newberg be your favorite meal?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I’ve never actually had Lobster Newberg but it sounds delicious. It denotes an air of refined sophistication and I feel if I were to try it, I would be imbued with the nobility and grace of royalty. Also, Newburgh, New York is my favorite American city. You Christians have Tel Meggido, and the Islamic State has Newburgh, New York.

Cold N. Holefield: My sanity is waning, you were right.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I warned you — it’s a foolish endeavor to try to fit me and the Islamic State into your preconceived notions. The constructs by which you view your world cannot aid you in understanding my world and the Islamic State because it’s not a matter of understanding, but rather a matter of accepting.

Cold N. Holefield: You do know that the Newberg in Lobster Newberg is spelled differently than Newburgh, New York, don’t you?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: It doesn’t matter.

Cold N. Holefield: It does to me — and to Q. Shtik. Thus far, your mastery of the English language has been impeccable. You’re quite articulate, but then you make a blunder like this. How did you come to master the English language anyway? You navigate it more proficiently than the majority of Americans.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I took an intensive immersion course offered by the CIA for budding, self-radicalizing young jihadists. As part of that training, I was required to communicate only in English for close to a year. Also, as part of that immersive training, I was encouraged to comment at various blog sites using a veritable sea of screen names. You mentioned Q. Shtik — we are all quite fond of him and actually owe him a debt of gratitude for unwittingly aiding us in our endeavor to be better communicators. He’s a legend in the world in which I travel. He’s like Sugar Man — he’ll never realize how great he really is, and that’s probably a good thing. It’s best that someone like him remains humble and naive. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that before stumbling upon Q. Shtik, we, my Islamic State comrades and I, never knew what a cock ring was. But thanks to him, we now have our many wives fully trained on how to use them on us when we’re raping them — which is every other hour on the hour.

Cold N. Holefield: The cat’s out of the bag if he reads the transcript of this interview. I hate to give him the satisfaction. We may be creating an egomaniacal monster.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Fuck it!

Cold N. Holefield: Enough about Q. Shtik, let’s get to the heart of the matter. What is the Islamic State all about? How did your organization come about and what is its ultimate purpose? What are your goals? What do you hope to accomplish? What’s the point of all the sadistic, brutal and senseless violence?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: You may not like this, but too bad if you don’t. I’ll answer your questions with some questions. What is America all about? How did its current incarnation (not its historical roots although that would also be an interesting conversation and discussion) come about and what is its ultimate purpose? What are its goals? What does it hope to accomplish? What’s the point of all its sadistic, brutal and senseless violence? If you can answer those questions honestly, and I doubt you or anyone else in The West can, within those answers you will find the answers to the questions you posed to me. The Islamic State fits like a glove just as surely as 2 + 2 = 4. For those who perceive it properly, very few do who are not on the inside looking out, the Islamic State makes perfectly predictable sense. To the dimwitted, gullible and incapacitated consumers of mass-produced, stage-crafted news, we’re the devil du jour — the next version (2.0) of terror in the never-ending WooT. Al Qaeda is showing its age and is increasingly irrelevant. Think of it as Windows 95. Something had to step up and fill the void created by AQ’s apathy and ineffectiveness at scaring the bejesus out of the sheep. We’re that something.

Cold N. Holefield: What, may I ask, does the acronym WooT represent? I suspect it has something to do with the War on Terror, am I correct?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: It stands for the War on & of Terror. War, at least modern warfare, is terror, so if the claim of a coalition’s military campaign is to fight a War on Terror, it is merely spreading terror further and deeper and therefore is as much a War of Terror as it is a War on Terror. Since the majority of casualties in modern warfare are borne by non-combatant civilians, whether intentionally inflicted or not, a War on Terror terrorizes the non-combatant civilians twice, once by the terrorists (jihadist rebels) and once by the terrorists (coalition’s mindless killing machines who are just following orders) — two for the price of one. Talk to the people of Iraq, the “savages”, and let them tell you about the terror they’ve experienced from every corner, including their so-called self-imposed liberators.

Cold N. Holefield: You’re engaging in Moral Equivalency — The West, and America more specifically, don’t commit barbarous acts like beheadings and massacring entire villages.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: No, Cold, you’re engaging in Exceptionalism. The theatrics of execution videos aside, war is war no matter how vainly you try to rationalize your reasoning for it. Who invaded who, Cold? I don’t recall that Iraq invaded America or Europe? In fact, what I recall is that Iraq was once a favored ally of America and The West. Dick Cheney knew what would come of an invasion and occupation of Iraq — he said it on national television back in the early 1990’s. His reasoning was well-researched and sound. George H.W. Bush was intelligent enough to know it would be foolhardy to go all the way to Baghdad in Gulf War I and take out Saddam and yet his wayward son, The Decider, along with his puppet master Dick Cheney decided in 2003, probably even earlier than that, that it would now be a good idea to do what would have been a terrible idea ten years prior, using 9/11 as a pretext even though there was no credible evidence that Saddam and Iraq had anything to do with 9/11.

Cold N. Holefield: Speaking of those theatrical execution videos, how does a ragtag band of Stone Age thugs accomplish something so seemingly technical and professional from what appears to be not much more than desert cave dwellings as your studio?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I know, it doesn’t add up, does it? But you know what, Cold? It doesn’t have to add up. You can publish this transcript and people, very few, will read it and they’ll never think twice about the enigmatic contradictions. They’ll just know they’re supposed to hate the Islamic State and all Muslims and never question the glaring holes and inconsistencies in the official narrative. Even though no one will learn anything from this interview Cold, I want you to know I don’t regret it and I don’t think it was a waste of time.

Cold N. Holefield: Thanks — I think. It’s certainly an interview I’ll never forget, not only because it’s a uniquely bizarre conversation, but also because it’s the first interview I’ve ever conducted and probably the last. Before we move on though, you still haven’t answered the question about the professional camera and editing work in producing the execution videos.


Sir Isaac Newburgh: Cold, you yourself have said that people will do anything for money. You were right, people will and people do. It’s no different for us. We’ve recruited some fine technical artists who have an impressive pedigree — attending prestigious American universities notable for their award-winning media production & communications programs. They can’t find suitable well-paying work when they graduate and yet they have immense potential, so we give them a chance to do great work for great money. So long as we keep their identity secure and private, no one will ever know who they are and what they did, and through one of our many front companies, Business International Corporation for example, we’ll show these recruits, once they’ve completed their contracts with us, as having worked for that legally legitimate front organization so they will have documented experience on their resume that can be legally validated.

Cold N. Holefield: I’m sure they get a real sense of pride from the work they’ve accomplished.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: You’re being facetious of course, but artists have to eat and survive, Cold. You know that. Why do you think Bob Dylan did the Cadillac commercial and Tony Siragusa did the Depend commercial? They wanted a third home or that $200,000 classic car at Barrett-Jackson— and who can blame them?

Cold N. Holefield: Tony Siragusa is an athlete, not an artist.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Funny, Siragusa certainly doesn’t look athletic, does he? Seriously though, Cold, pro athletes these days are entertainers and entertainers are artists — and artists have to eat — and Tony, obviously, likes to eat.

Cold N. Holefield: Who makes the trademark black outfits you and your comrades wear? They look professionally and impeccably tailored.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: It’s not Martin Greenfield, I’ll tell you that. In the past, he tailored a couple of suits for me and they were crap — they started falling apart within a year. I said to myself then and there, about buying another suit from him, Never Again. Actually, we’ve recruited a heretofore unheralded Italian Versace seamstress to produce the trademark black uniforms. I’ll tell her you admire her work.

Cold N. Holefield: Can I ask you a favor? If I give you my measurements, could she tailor for me a dozen or so boxers? I need them specially made because the mass-produced ones you find at the stores cannot properly accommodate my prodigious manhood. I’ll owe you.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: No problem, Cold. I’d be more than happy to get that done for you. Life is Good, isn’t it?

Cold N. Holefield: It can be — but not if you’re a reporter in the custody of the Islamic State.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Listen smart ass, do you want the boxers or not?

Cold N. Holefield: The thing I find amazing is how you’re able to get the media to carry your water for you. I mean, they’re champing at the bit to amplify your existence and  the threat you pose to the civilized world by plastering your latest gory misdeeds all over the front page.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Funny that, isn’t it Cold? We couldn’t pull off this public relations coup without the zealous aid of the media and its insatiable thirst and hunger for terror porn. It’s like feeding raw chicken to alligators — they devour it ravenously and ask their audience to do the same — saving the best parts for themselves, of course. We always laugh when Anderson Pooperstain laments to his audience that he had to watch the video in its sadistic entirety as part of his job. He has to be thorough, afterall. It’s about integrity. How else could he report on the video if he hasn’t seen it, right? Official cover’s a sweet deal, isn’t it? So much fetish flies stealthily under official cover. Snuff films are but one of many examples. “That that grins at you — that thing — through them.”


Cold N. Holefield: Your organization has a predilection for beheadings in these execution videos. Do I denote a lack of imagination on the part of the producers? Their green is showing, methinks.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: You’re correct, up to this point we’ve been a one trick pony of sorts, but stay tuned because we’re about to mix it up a bit. It won’t always be beheadings, but since these production recruits are fresh out of university, they’ve needed some time to get their sea legs. They’re getting up to speed and will be steadily cruising along in no time.

Cold N. Holefield: Good grief.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I know, right? It’s not easy being me, Cold. Some days I have a strong compulsion to just hang up my boots and retire to my villa in Abruzzo, but alas my profession is like the Hotel California — you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. Have you ever smelled colitis, Cold? I haven’t.

Cold N. Holefield: No, I’ve never smelled colitis but it doesn’t sound like something that would smell all that pleasant. I don’t even know what it is. When I was younger and first heard Hotel California I thought it was saying Cletus, which I thought was oddly coincidental because I had a friend named Cletus who stunk to high heaven. He stunk so bad we had to carry on a long distance friendship of sorts. If we wanted to see a movie together we had to drive in separate cars and I would make him sit on the other side of the theater. Same thing if we went to a bar together. This is how I learned sign language — we were forced to learn it since we needed to communicate at a distance. I’m not sure whatever happened to Cletus, but I bet he still stinks wherever he is. Very few people are capable of cleaning up their act.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: You’re a weird one, Cold.

Cold N. Holefield: It takes one to know one, Mr. Pot.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Gishkee!! … Dickle!! … Dickle!! … Fuckface!! … Knobjob!!

Cold N. Holefield: What in thee hell? Are you alright?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Yeah, I’m fine. Why?

Cold N. Holefield: You just started jerking your head and body and spouting obscenities.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Oh that — don’t worry, it’s just a bit of Tourette’s. I picked it up from the CIA sponsored intensive immersive English language training. Anything you do with the CIA is like that — it’s great training but it always comes with some bizarre glitch. More than a few of us now have minor Tourette’s after taking that training. The CIA claims it has nothing to do with the training but we’re not buying it. 

Cold N. Holefield: Jesus, just when I thought I’ve heard, and seen, it all. Are you taking any medication for it?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Cannabis. I haven’t had my dose this afternoon and this interview is getting long so I guess it’s starting to act up.

Cold N. Holefield: The executioners in the videos don’t have Tourette’s, do they?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: No, we let the guys with syphilis perform the executions.

Cold N. Holefield: Sure, why not — it gives them something to look forward to, right? How’d they get syphilis if they’re raping only virgins?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: How did Mary give birth to Jesus if she was a virgin? She was a Komodo Dragon, that’s how.

Cold N. Holefield: Oh for Christ’s sake!

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Apparently it was for Christ’s sake — or that’s how the story goes. Getting back to something you said earlier, when you mentioned you had an odiferous friend named Cletus, I waxed nostalgic about The Dukes of Hazzard.

Cold N. Holefield: How on you earth do you know about The Dukes of Hazzard?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: It was a hugely popular show throughout the Middle East when I was young — and still is. Muslims love The Dukes of Hazzard and Muslim men crave and adore Daisy Duke — me included.  An endless sea of Muslim seed was, and still is, spilled on behalf of Daisy Duke — she’s the birth mother of an entire civilization of Muslims in an alternate universe where that seed was, and is, not spilled in vain. When we, the Islamic State, kidnap our wives we select for those females who possess Daisy Duke qualities and potential.

Cold N. Holefield: Bullshit!

Sir Isaac Newburgh: It’s true, Cold, even though it’s all lies — as you say.

Cold N. Holefield: Something I find particularly odd and perplexing — actually I find all of this odd and perplexing and what I’m about to ask is no exception — is how the Islamic State is able to recruit so many willing and eager Americans, and Westerners in general, to your cause, whatever that cause may be. What’s your secret? I find it incomprehensible?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: It’s not that difficult to understand, Cold. Truthfully, the American and Western traditional form of public education does most of the leg work for us by systematically undermining these recruits capacity for critical, independent and objective thought and reasoning. They’re primed for programming and it’s just a matter of us flipping that switch and providing the programming. Consequently, we’ve hired a team of Derren Brown’s to work their magic in molding and shaping these solid state drives to do our bidding. It’s actually quite simple — the same Western process that turns young infants with the potential to move mountains into fat, lazy, gluttonous, couch potato consumers is the same process that can also turn those same infants into murderous jihadists in lonely and desolate deserts half way across the world.

Cold N. Holefield: Where does the Islamic State get the blinding white brand spanking new Toyota trucks? One would think since your organization is so loathed no one would do business with you, and yet you’re driving around in new Toyotas fully equipped with machine gun turrets.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: One would think — and that one would be wrong. The official story of course is, and will always be, that we plunder them during our many raids, but that’s just cover for how we really procure them.

Cold N. Holefield: And how do you really procure them?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Let’s just say they’re donated from various sources who understand the importance of our mission and are doing everything they can after conjuring us to enable and perpetuate our thriving existence. We love our Toyotas, Cold. Who could ask for anything more?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Allāhu Akbar!!!

Cold N. Holefield: Another Tourette’s fit? I’ll try to wrap this thing up so you can take your “medication.”

Sir Isaac Newburgh: It wasn’t my Tourette’s, Cold. I have to emphatically ejaculate Allāhu Akbar at least three times daily and I realized I hadn’t yet ejaculated it today.

Cold N. Holefield: Okay — alrighty then. Would you like a towel or a washrag to clean that ejaculate up, or will you just use your shirttail?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: You’re pressing your luck, Cold. This interview has been relatively civil thus far, so let’s keep it that way. I’d hate for things to get messy.

Cold N. Holefield: You’re right — I’m sorry — I lost my head.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I can’t believe you’ve lived this long considering your incessant and unrelenting sarcasm.

Cold N. Holefield: It’s dumb luck, I guess. It does make for a rather lonely existence. I have a predilection to metaphorically annihilate anyone who attempts to come too close.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Even Daisy Duke?

Cold N. Holefield: Especially Daisy Duke.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: That’s a sacrilege in my book.

Cold N. Holefield: I thought the Qur’an was your book and yet I don’t see a copy on your person, but instead you’re carrying a Gideon Bible. How do you explain such a bizarre anomaly?


Sir Isaac Newburgh: I found the Gideon Bible in my hotel room and was fascinated by it, so I’m keeping it like I keep the soap and shampoo. As for the Qur’an, as part of our extensive jihadist, self-radicalizing training we were, all of us, required to memorize it, so there’s no need to be encumbered by toting around a physical manifestation of it. It’s in my head and it’s in my heart. It’s with me at all times. It’s part of the fabric of my being.

Cold N. Holefield: Let’s test the verity of that assertion. I’m putting you on the spot — quote me a verse of the Qur’an here and now.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: No problem, Cold. I can easily scuttle your attempt to entrap me . The Qur’an 9:11 (بذرة) A man who spilleth his seed, is a man in desperate need — of many wives. A calm palm is not a suitable surrogate for twenty-five wives. Kidnap them if you must, if it mitigates spilling precious seed in the dust. Be fruitful and multiply, then turn mealy and mushy then moldy and toxic as you decay back to fertile soil to serve as nourishment for the next seed that randomly falls upon your biomic remains.

Cold N. Holefield: You’re making that shit up. No way.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Have you ever read the Qur’an, Cold?

Cold N. Holefield: No, but I know bullshit when I see and hear it.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: If you’ve never read the sacred text, you’re in no position to judge the verity of that beautifully profound verse that my fellow jihadis and I live by.

Cold N. Holefield: I’m going to have to start wrapping this interview up — if I don’t I’m afraid I may have to find a Shrink.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so.

Cold N. Holefield: What are your plans this evening after we conclude this interview? Are you going to feast on Lobster Newberg?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: That sounds revolting — I have an overwhelming aversion to seafood, especially shellfish. I think I’m allergic actually — my testicles swell up to the size of grapefruit when I eat shellfish.

Cold N. Holefield: That sounds painful — but you told us earlier Lobster Newberg was your favorite dish that inspired your name, and now you’re saying you find it sickening.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: That was then and this is now, Cold. Things change — people evolve. Who are you to judge?

Cold N. Holefield: That’s what I would call Radical Evolution.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Self-radicalization sets you free, Cold. I am disappointed I won’t be in America long enough to catch the opening of Clint Eastwood’s American Sniper. We’ve all read Chris Kyle’s book — he’s a hero to us.

Cold N. Holefield: What?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Yeah, George W. Bush created us with the decisions he and his administration made related to Iraq and Chris Kyle’s image perpetuates the Islamic State by never letting us forget. We have posters of Chris Kyle all over the place — we carry them with us everywhere and we’re constantly resupplying our stash — including the shooting ranges where we use it for target practice. See, hate keeps a man alive, Cold, and Kyle, for the Islamic State, is the face of hate. His image helps tremendously with recruitment. Thank you, Clint Eastwood and Bradley Cooper for amplifying that effect and aiding us in our endeavor to increase our numbers and expand our power and influence. You are providing incredible value to our organization and you haven’t asked for anything from us in return. It’s paid for by braindead Americans who will see this movie in record numbers.

Cold N. Holefield: You think American Sniper will set box office records?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I know it will, Cold. I know Americans better than Americans know Americans.

Cold N. Holefield: How long did you say your tour of America would last?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I didn’t say, but I will now; I’ll be here visiting, traveling and training for a couple weeks before heading back to the Levant. I arrived December 20th and was able to catch my Pats squeak one out over the Jets on the 21st. Go Pats!

Cold N. Holefield: You’ve got to be kidding me, you’re a New England Patriots fan?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Damn straight I am, homie! How can anyone not be a fan of a team named the Patriots? Plus, I’m a huge Aaron Hernandez fan, so I want to see the Pats win the Super Bowl in his honor.

Cold N. Holefield: Aaron Hernandez is a cold-blooded murderer, I doubt the Pats would want to win any game in his honor, let alone the Super Bowl. In fact. we’ve hardly heard a peep about him since he was indicted. The NFL doesn’t want to draw any further negative attention to itself so they’re going out of their way to keep that story smothered and off the front pages.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Jeremy Banks is also a cold-blooded murderer and yet he’s not behind bars, but instead is patrolling the streets of St. Augustine, Florida as a police officer — he’s respected and revered by many of his fellow police officers — especially his superiors. Whether you’re a murderer or not, and the implications that result from being labeled one, depends on what your status and station is in society. As a murderer, Aaron chose the wrong profession. If he was a cop, he would be as free as a bird now.

Cold N. Holefield: There’s no way the Patriots are winning the Super Bowl this year. I don’t even think they’ll make it to the Big Show to have a chance.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Wrong again, Cold. It will be the Patriots versus the Seahawks in the Super Bowl and the Pats will pull it out late in the 4th quarter. That’s what my source tells me, and my source is about as reliable as a source can be — it’s made lots of money for me and my colleagues over the years. It tipped us off to 9/11 a week before it went down and gave us a list of companies to short that would be directly affected by the events of that day. This source assures me the Patriots will defeat, in a very close game that will come down to the last several crucial plays, the Seahawks in the Super Bowl and I will place my bets accordingly. I’m looking forward to making millions off of one game.

Cold N. Holefield: No way — I don’t believe it.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Give me your cell number so I can call you and gloat at 11pm EST on Feb. 1st after the Patriots have won as I have said they will.

Cold N. Holefield: Fine, you have a pen handy? I’ll give you my number. It’s 555-867-5309.

Cold N Holefield: I almost forgot to ask a very important and pertinent question. Unlike other radical Muslim organizations like al Qaeda, Hamas and Hizbullah, Israel doesn’t appear to be on your radar. Rarely if ever does the Islamic State criticize Israel whereas the other Muslim organizations are focused predominantly on Israel and the Westerners that enable Israel. The Islamic State has been more critical of, and threatening to, the Vatican than to Israel. How do you explain this anomaly?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: No comment.

Cold N Holefield: No comment? You haven’t been at a loss of words for the duration of this interview and now you go silent when I mention Israel? Are you afraid of Israel and the Jews?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Remember when Jim told you to be careful, Cold? Well, I’m telling you the same — be careful, very careful. You’re treading on very thin and precarious ice.

Cold N Holefield: Okay, I get it — I’ll move on. What else will you be doing with the rest of your time here in America?

Sir Isaac Newburgh: I have a rather full schedule and social calendar, Cold, so I’ll be quite busy. I first have to complete CPE courses at both Quantico and Langley and immediately after that I’d like to cash in my award for achieving the designation of valedictorian of my graduating jihadist, self-radicalization class. That award is a sleepover in the Lincoln bedroom of the White House. I can’t wait — it’s going to be so exciting. I hear it’s haunted and ghosts, as well as Mike Douglas, make me moist. They’ll have to sneak me in through the tunnels, of course, but I don’t mind — I’m used to it by now. It comes with the territory.

From a social perspective, I’ll be dining with Tareq and Michaele Salahi separately and respectively on two separate evenings since they’re now divorced. They have a way of insinuating themselves into everything and anything but they’re actually great hosts and wonderful cooks. At some point I’ll be horseback riding with Marlin Fitzwater and then afterward he’s promised to accompany me to a Rave. Do you know he’s one of the few famous people with the given name Marlin? Who names their kid Marlin? I can see Merlin since he was a famous magician, but Marlin? Weird.

At some point Ofeibea Quist-Arcton and Soraya Sarhaddi Nelson want to accompany me to Friendly’s for dinner and ice cream and a few games of Twister afterwards. As well, Michael Moore and I are Bowling for Columbine in Littleton, Colorado followed by a pizza-eating contest  — which I don’t stand a chance of winning against the likes of Big Mike. Finally, and this isn’t final by any means, I’ve reached out to George W. Bush to accompany me to my favorite hamburger joint, Whataburger in Big D. I hope he accepts the invitation. It would be an absolute honor to enjoy a Whataburger under the Big W with Dubya, the Islamic State’s progenitor. He’s like a father to us.


Cold N Holefield: You’re right, that sure is a full and hectic schedule. You’re a veritable rock star.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: It’s the result of a lot of hard work and dedication, Cold, and being at the right place at the right time. Before we part ways, I want to present you with a gift since it’s Christmas. Here it is.

[Cold takes the gift, the size of a hat box, reluctantly and begins to open it suspiciously and cautiously.]

Cold N Holefield: Gee, I can hardly wait to see what it is. I hope it’s not a head.

[Cold unwraps the gift and peeks inside. Thankfully, there’s no head and no blood. Instead, there’s a smaller, elegant wooden box with a clear glass inset on the hinged top within the larger hat box. Cold takes it out and opens it. To his surprise it contains a boxcutter cradled securely yet delicately in red velvet.]

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Well, what do you think?

Cold N Holefield: Wow, a boxcutter — just what I’ve always wanted. Now I can go hijack a plane.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: It’s not just any old boxcutter, Cold. Some of our people found it at ground zero hours after the towers fell in pristine condition. They found four more just like it and they found five more pristine passports the FBI didn’t find. These mementos are worth a fortune on the open market. It’s an extremely valuable gift.

Cold N Holefield: I can’t accept this — there’s too much negative Karma associated with it.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Karma Schmarma. There’s no such thing as Karma, Cold. I’m not taking it back. If you seriously don’t want it, donate it to the Smithsonian or to PBS/NPR — they can auction it off and realize a multi-million dollar donation from you. Maybe they’ll even mention your name at the beginning of various broadcasts like they do for other prominent donors.

Cold N Holefield: That’s probably what I’ll do. Thanks for the goodwill gesture, although I’m not certain about the message.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Cold, don’t be so paranoid. Sometimes, just as a cigar is just a cigar, a boxcutter is just a boxcutter. The medium is the message, Cold.

Cold N Holefield: We’re going to end this interview now before I completely lose my mind.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: Before we part ways, can I ask you a favor since I’m helping you with the custom-made boxers?

Cold N Holefield: Sure, I said I owe you.

Sir Isaac Newburgh: What’s the best topless bar in Manhattan? My boys and I want to party with some naked ladies.

Cold N Holefield: Fuck it.


36 thoughts on “Teh Interview

  1. Sitting here waiting for the national orgy of football excess to finally conclude with an actual football game, I have to agree with your Twitter post about the simple wisdom of just going back to leather helmets, or similarly minimal protective headgear. It’s a concept so simple and obviously effective that you’d think that even the neanderthals running the NFL would get it. And as I watch the obligatory ostentatious USAF flyover, I would only add that that would then free them up to quit wrapping themselves in the flag with their rather obscene tributes to the US military. Word: the US military ain’t the NFL and the NFL ain’t the US military, no matter how many cross marketing campaigns they run. Maybe one of these days the Super Bowl will be a simple football game played at a small site without all this fucking bullshit marketing hoopla. One can still dream, can’t one?

  2. Hey DA, believe it or not, I really didn’t watch it. I haven’t been interested in it for some time now. I did stop on it for about a minute whilst flipping the channels, and it was as boring as it ever was. I did notice the majority of the players were Black and tattooed. Instead, I watched this foreign film based off of a true story. Actually, it was appropriate to the themes covered incessantly at Clusterfuck Nation. As standards of living in the 1st world decline, formerly relatively safe and secure middle class suburbs will increasingly be infiltrated with thugs and thuggery, and without community a man and his family will have tough choices to make in order to survive because The Authorities will not have the capacity nor the inclination to intervene and protect the citizenry.

    • Good choice. Might be the last one I watch too. The SB’s been my last bit of spectacle for several years now, but it’s really time to cut the ties. Nothing but corporate excess and America Uber Alles propaganda for the “corn pone” masses as Jimmy would say. And the Hawks inexplicable play call at the goal line to effectively end the game seriously had me wondering if the coach hadn’t been paid to throw the game. I was ashamed for both teams’ players to see it end that way. Embarrassing for the Hawks and insulting for the Pats. Oh well.

    • As standards of living in the 1st world decline, formerly relatively safe and secure middle class suburbs will increasingly be infiltrated with thugs and thuggery, and without community a man and his family will have tough choices to make in order to survive because The Authorities will not have the capacity nor the inclination to intervene and protect the citizenry.

      I think this is fairly widespread already. My girlfriend is a Honduran emigre and now US citizen, and that’s exactly why she left. She’s still got family there unfortunately, and it worries her greatly. Honduras is, of course, the prototypical banana republic, where US corporate interests went in and bought the government in order to throw the peasant poor off their land and convert it to US owned and/or controlled plantations. Now it’s all peasant poor and narco gangs armed to the hilt, with a mostly ineffectual and powerless US controlled government keeping a lid on the place. Pretty much a replay of the conquering of the US Native American updated with 20th century tactics. Gonna be a royal bitch when the chickens finally come home to roost for all the shit done in the name of American foreign policy.

  3. And the Hawks inexplicable play call at the goal line to effectively end the game seriously had me wondering if the coach hadn’t been paid to throw the game.

    You’re not the only one who thinks the game was rigged/fixed. It appears both Belichick and Carroll knew it in advance and played their part. The NFL is on par with pro-wrestling and exists for the sake of distracting bread & circuses for the naive plebes, propaganda to keep the plebes in line and for the gambling interests. I extracted the following comments from the following article because they dare to speak to it. The article itself tries to play down the rigged/fixed accusations. Containment.

    Super Bowl 49 Rigged?

    taurusjwb • 11 minutes ago

    NFL sucks….so tired of it. Of course it’s not on the up and up.

    Joe gideon • an hour ago

    The ridiculous choice by SS to throw versus run was not the only giveaway to the fix. The fact that Bill B did not A) immediately let Seattle score, or, B) call a time-out, to give his team a chance to tie/win, was a dead giveaway. He did neither because he knew well in advance that he didn’t have to-the outcome was already decided…

    lalameda • 11 hours ago

    Shot of Roger Goodell when the ball landed in Kearse’s lap on the 5 yard line — looked like Goodell was going to lose his mind. NFL Inc. NEEDED Pats to win this game.

    TheDude • 12 hours ago

    Game was rigged. No way in hell any coach in his right mind would consider passing the ball at the 1 yard line with less than 30 seconds left in the biggest game of the year and a win in their pocket. No way. Even his post game explanation made no sense. Pile on top of that the unprecedented loss of the Colts to none other than the Patriots in the AFC championship, and the Packers losing at the very end of the NFC championship to the Seahawks (who won the Superbowl last year) all of the sudden things just start looking too good to be true.

    Obamamerica2015 • an hour ago

    Exactly. No sane coach would call that unless he was forced to. The refs tried their best to help the Pats win, but at the end the call was made to prevent an obvious run.

    Look back at the entire playoffs. You’ll see lots of fixing. The Dez Bryant overturned call was an abomination of justice and I think it woke a lot of people up to the truth that no one wants to hear. The NFL is little more than scripted entertainment…like pro-wrestling.

    • Good stuff. I’ve just begun to get similar inklings from the commentary on the mainstream sports blogs. Another popular theme is that there was no way the NFL was going to allow Marshawn Lynch to score the winning TD and face the cameras as the likely MVP. But no matter what, none of the explanations for that play call being presented today make even a little bit of sense. I didn’t really care who won the game either way, but I knew, as millions did, as soon as I saw that play that something as was not right. Don’t think I’;ll be following that BS anymore from hear on out.

  4. Whatever else, I’m digging that escalators to the Health Club image. I think that pretty much says it all about our current state of affairs. We definitely want to be fit, but God help us if we actually have to take a single step ourselves toward getting there!

  5. FYI, Disaffected, the following comment was deleted by Kunstler this morning. I present it below as I left it at Clusterfuck Nation.

    “That was when I realized that a nigger is not a person so much as a form of behavior; a sort of obverse reflection of the white people he lives among.”

    He deleted my comment but left the one where Flock of Seagulls said “the pink ones are tastier than the brown ones,” not to mention all of Janos’ tripe that he’s keeping to “serve as an example” as he put it.

    Read between the lines, DA, read between the lines. That’s where the real story is — and yet hardly anyone reads there.

    • I hear ya Catcher. I tired to make the point one time that we should all just say the word nigger ten times (or whatever) and get over it. It’s just a word that’s become charged over time. I don’t really think that it would be all that hard to uncharge it. I was messing with Janos last night too. I wonder how much of his commentary is just trying to be provocative? If nothing else, it’s hard to believe that anyone could get so spun up over that crap, racist or otherwise. The mixing of the races thing has long left the station, it might be time for him to make his peace with it, whether he likes it or not.

    • Just to add, whenever I hear someone use the phrase “the n-word” in conversation I always want to ask them, what, are we back in preschool again? Are you still afraid your mom’s gonna hear you and wash your mouth out with soap? It’s ok, it’s just a word. We can handle it, we’re both adults here (presumably). Now obviously, yelling it out the window at somebody is a different thing altogether, but I think reasonable adults understand that already.

  6. If you’ll note, I put the words in quotes because they are a quote. I purposely didn’t identify the author because it was a litmus test, or some honey if you will. They are the words of the character Quentin Compson in William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury. Quentin, a Southerner in the 1920’s, travels East to attend Harvard and as part of that process, the process of experiencing a different world and reality, he’s forced to introspect about himself and his place in this new world and his old world and his place in that old world. As part of that introspection, he also must contemplate niggers — what one is and what it means to be one — and his relationship to them now and in the past.

    It could have been an enlightening conversation, and who knows, maybe it would have compelled a couple of people to read The Sound and the Fury. But no, Kunstler deleted it. Pathetic. And ironic. But not surprising. Oh well. Fuck it.

    • Jim runs hot and cold, but he’s pretty uptight more often than not. I’ll bet the boys got pretty stirred up over there last night. I signed off early and went to bed as I was beginning to be a comment hog anyway. I’ll check back in tomorrow to see what kind of slammage I recieved after I left. I think a few of the commenters over there are posing for effect, which is cool. I try to push buttons too, so it’s all good fun, until they delete your comments and ban you from the board anyway. I had a run in over at Naked Capitalism a few weeks ago and politely got shown the door for the 3rd or 4th time. Those people are all a bit stuffy and full of themselves anyway. Big NYC “financial professionals” and all that rot. You don’t even dare think the word conspiracy over there without them coming down on you with both feet.

      Anyway, back to work now, catch you later. Looking forward to the second half of this post.

  7. Actually, I’m pleased that Kunstler decided to delete my comment now that I’ve had ample time to process it. I would have wasted the effort on a bunch of fucktard manchildren who haven’t graduated mentally and emotionally past adolescence. So, I’m putting it here in a space that engenders and appreciates it rather than the comment section of Clusterfuck Nation that morcellates intelligent discussion like a sadistic gynecologist laparoscopically morcellates a uterus.

    Faulkner and Racism


    The single most indelible fact about William Faulkner’s work is his persistent concentration on observing and recording the culture and country in which he was born; what is most striking now, as we look back on his legacy from our own, is the enormous courage and cost of that task. Faulkner’s Lafayette County, in northeastern Mississippi, not far from the battle sites of Brice’s Cross Roads, Corinth, and Shiloh, is still marked in its town squares with statues of soldiers of the Confederate Army of the United States, in full battle dress and, more often than not, facing South towards the homeland they mean to protect with their lives. But what for Faulkner is most haunting is not the communal psychology of war so much as the agonizing recognition of the exacting expenses of racism, for him the most difficult and most grievous awareness of all. Racism spreads contagiously through his works, unavoidably. Its force is often debilitating; its consequences often beyond reckoning openly. The plain recognition of racism is hardest to bear and yet most necessary to confront.

    Perhaps the most powerful scene in Faulkner’s writing which centers on a black, and unforgettable for anyone who has read it, is the sermon the Reverend Shegog from St. Louis preaches on Easter Sunday April 8, 1928, in the last section of The Sound and the Fury (1929). The Reverend Shegog juxtaposes three iconic pictures of Christ: the baby threatened by Herod, the man betrayed by Pilate, and the triumphant Lord who suffered on the Cross. Shegog’s narrative of Christ’s life, while biblically universal, is in its calculated delivery at this place clearly the history of black slavery writ personally and biblically. It is also, by no coincidence, written in blood, Christ’s narrative at its bloodiest moments despite his urging the annealing power of that bloodshed. Under his [page 266] powerful sway, readers like his congregation may forget that the story he tells is the white man’s cultural heritage, not Shegog’s, and in transporting all of them into tongues he also reduces his own language to a primitive sound and ritual: the scene takes on darker and darker meanings as we contemplate it. Dilsey nevertheless seems transformed. “‘I’ve seed de first en de last,'” she says,1 but she cannot explain what the first and last are; Benjy remains unchanged; and Frony reverts to her embarrassed social consciousness: “‘Whyn’t you quit dat, mammy?’ Frony said. ‘Why all dese people lookin. We be passin white folks soon'” (297). Dilsey’s reconciling tears seem out of place for Frony and for her fellow parishioners. What are we to make of this? Perhaps a great deal: in the last pages of the novel, Frony is proven right, not Dilsey. Nothing has changed. The blacks remain servants, and often servile, to the whites.

    But Faulkner has already told us this. His initial portrait of Dilsey in the fourth section–based in part on his own black mammy Caroline Barr–is anything but heroic as she exits from her cabin. She is not defeated by her life, but clearly it has worn her down and worn her out. Consumed, ruined, on the day of resurrection Dilsey is herself only a skeleton, her sagging skin pointedly displaying how she is exhausted, diminished by her life. Her first decision, once outdoors, is to turn around and go back from where she came, circling back to her immediate beginning as the larger novel, in the end, circles back to “post and tree, window and doorway and signboard each in its ordered place” (321). In the following pages, as she hauls in firewood, toils up the stairs with a hot water bottle, scolds her grandson and feeds the thirty-three-year-old suffering from Downs Syndrome, her every gesture remains that of the traditional mammy: her outreach is imprisoned in duties dictated by past legacy. Her glory is to serve, but she serves not the Lord in this novel but the deteriorating Compson family in their rotting house. She evokes for us, then, a kind of fatality that seems both to sadden and to undermine any claim she may have on our sense of heroism. She invokes enormous pity but insufficient terror. The racism which Faulkner exhibits here is, I think, profoundly subtle and profoundly deep, and wholly unintended. But Faulkner’s admiration for Dilsey betrays him.

    That portrait, however, is a significant step forward for Faulkner as he came, through his writing, to understand ever more deeply the forces [page 267] and characteristics of racism. His first novel of Yoknapatawpha, Flags in the Dust (1973; as Sartoris, 1929), shows more openly the pressures and shapes of the culture that formed him. There the blacks are characterized by the Strother family–a father who swindles the people of his parish by gambling their savings, a son who lies about his heroism during World War I, and the wife and mother who sees her own race betraying itself in the song she sings:

    “Sinner riz fum de moaner’s bench, Sinner jump to de penance bench; When de preacher ax’im whut de reason why, Says ‘Preacher got de women jes’ de same ez I’. Oh, Lawd, Oh Lawd! Dat’s whut de matter wid de church today.”

    In time, though, Faulkner reveals that Elnora Strother sings mainly about herself, for she is her own worst example of sin, having surrendered to the white Colonel Sartoris to produce a mulatto, and bastard, son. And Faulkner goes even further. Depicting servitude and endurance in Flags in the Dust, he calls for “Some Cincinnatus of the cotton fields [to] contemplate the lowly destiny, some Homer [who] should sing the saga, of the mule and of his place in the South,” that lazy worker which “with its trace-galled flanks and flopping, lifeless ears, and its half-closed eyes drowsing venomously behind pale lids, apparently asleep with . . . its own motion” is both “Outcast and pariah” and “Ugly, untiring, and perverse . . . . Misunderstood even by that creature [the nigger who drives him] whose impulses and mental processes most closely resemble his” (313-14). This suddenly illuminating and awful analogy, itself perverse, suggests more strikingly than elsewhere in Faulkner the racial attitudes he had to overcome to present Dilsey Gibson with some measure of dignity and respect.

    • Powerful stuff! And it points out one thing that almost all white’s don’t get: slavery and racism degrades both the master and the slave, and perversely bonds them together in a sort of mutual self-loathing. It’s why most blacks to this day remain trapped in the habits of mind that keep them trapped in the ghettos, and why whites, even poor whites who live in similar or identical circumstances, continue to hate them for it, unable to come to grips with their own sense of racial culpability. I’m not sure Americans can ever get completely past all of that, at least anytime soon. We seem to be sitting on very bit as much of a powder keg now as we were in the 60s, and now we have the extra problem of a permanent and growing white underclass to add to the mix as well. As we’re seeing already, the coming economic collapse is not going to be pretty at all.

  8. Did you go a little farther with this since I last checked in Cold? I like the term GWOOT. Global War On and Of Terror. With the emphasis on “Of,” from my perspective at least. I suspect that most of what the US ever defined as “terror” was either complete fabrication on the part of the CIA coalition, or totally justified responses to various US overseas “interventions” down through the years. The American sheeple have been brainwashed to believe that everything their government does is on the up and up and in their own interests. Simply amazing! I think the big boys have crunched the numbers and realize humanity is about to go through a bottleneck crisis of historic proportions. In that sense, I guess it all makes sense. But it’s pretty damn unseemly nonetheless.

  9. Paid a little visit over to Clusterfuck last night. Not much going on but Janos and his assorted sycophants making a stink of things. They’re incorrigible!

    • By Friday that place is aptly described by this Pink Floyd rendering:

      I haven’t checked in since my comment was deleted. I’m not sure when I will again. I take censorship seriously.

      • You’re not missing much. I comment over there only sporadically. The commentary is simply too disjointed and off topic with too many egos and and personal agendas on display. I get a chuckle out of reading it though.

  10. Hey DA, you’ll get a kick out of this. I was looking at my administrative page and someone ran PlagScan on my blog. Here’s the irony. I provide attribution for all my material, and the off chance I don’t, I put it in quotes strategically for a reason — I want it to spur discussion. I want an interested party to ask who authored the quote. Another irony is that I provide all this wonderful reference material and no one, or hardly anyone, even bothers to look at the reference (links), and yet someone has the nerve to suspect I’m plagiarizing.

    And sorry, but I refuse to respect The Interview as a copyright. They can shove that right up their ass if they think they can lay claim to that term/title in all written material.

  11. It’s such an incredibly small world, and yet, paradoxically, so vast and expansive. MS is also fascinated and intrigued by the Lance Armstrong doping conspiracy illuminated so illustratively by Vanessa O’Connell and Reed Albergotti in their co-authored book, Wheelmen.

    The only way out is further in — and ultimately Through the Looking Glass.

    I always wanted to see,
    what was beyond the cage that held me.
    Were all people the same,
    greedy and full of shame?
    Or would I meet someone new,
    someone just like you?

    • Thanks for that link Cold! Hadn’t heard of that book at all yet, but I’m definitely going to buy it. The Armstrong tale has always fascinated me. I was a fairly “serious” amateur recreational cyclist, having segued from running previously, which I was even more ill-suited for. As I found out, cyclists at all levels are extremely competitive. Something about turning the pedals I guess that makes you bound to ask, am I faster than this fatass riding next to me?

      But once I got into comprehending the whole European professional mindset I was hooked. I guess it brought out the obsessive-compulsive in me, which is a basic quality of all cyclists. The TdF’s of the 90’s, just as Greg LeMond (the original American winner) has testified to, literally took off due to the introduction of EPO, a revolutionary red cell blood booster used in the treatment of cancer patients, which hooked cycling fans every bit as much as it alarmed cycling officials. The guys who were using this atop the best teams were literally superhumans! It was quite a time!

      But then came the mass doping busts in ’98 and ’99, and the confirmed tests for EPO thereafter. Armstrong had the perfect luck of being positioned as a repeat winner and of course “miracle cancer survivor” in 2001 just as the gate came down on EPO use. Of course he and the money behind him were already too big to deny at that point, so exceptions had to be made, and it was at that point that the monster was created.

      The TdF, already a victim of it’s own doping scandals, could hardly afford to expose its newest and most lucrative ever by far American cash cow, so they made a deal with the devil and remained quiet. At this point, both Lance and all TdF and European cycling officials knew who was in the driver’s seat.

      From there, it was all a “fait accompli”. Lance either decided or was persuaded to cut it off at 7 straight wins against decidedly hamstrung competition, but after two years in retirement, he simply couldn’t resist the temptation to come back for more.

      And therein lied his downfall. Having forsworn the enhancements that won his first seven TdFs and ratted out those who had subsequently used them as well, Lance simply had no place to fall when his former supporters/lieutenants ratted him out as well. Needless to say, Lance without the performance enhancements in 2009-2011, was much less effective than the Lance of old.

      But I wax nostalgic! It was all quite a tale worthy of a turn of century, so I guess there’s at least that!


      DA, Disaffected, or whatever!

      • But I have to admit, that Bonham-Carter pic really does it for me! She’s the perfect mix of slut and saint, for my pedestrian tastes at least! Keep up the good work Cold!

  12. I’ve sworn off biking, DA. I took up mountain biking for a while, but after several ball bashings — the last one being particularly nasty and painful — I decided risking my manhood wasn’t worth it. I run instead — trail running because it’s more lenient on the joints. There are occasionally bikers on the trails I run and some of them are real assholes. Sometimes I take my dog with me and she dutifully and happily follows me when she’s not chasing deer or squirrels. One day not long ago Sylvie was following closely behind me and two mountain bikers came zooming out of nowhere. We had no time to react — not even to get out of the way. They nearly hit us. Sylvie’s as sweet as can be but she’s not always the brightest dog on the planet. She doesn’t understand that someone on a bike can run into her. Thankfully, she stayed behind me when these two pricks zoomed by. I thought to myself what I would have done to them had they hit Sylvie and hurt her. Both of them would have been making a trip to the hospital, that much is true. I considered their behavior tantamount to taking a swing at me, and had it connected, meaning had they hit me or Sylvie, I would have taken it out in kind on both their hides. I would have made sure to snap a couple of their legs and arms. They no doubt have no clue how close they came to putting their bikes up for a year or more if they ever got back on them again. Maybe they’ll never learn their lesson, but if they keep riding with reckless abandon like that and without any consideration or regard for other pedestrians using the trail, they’re going to run into trouble.

    • LOL! I did it in reverse, but now I’ve forsaken both. I ran early, inspite of having a body type not really cut out for it. Biked later, but found it expensive, time consuming, and boring. And as you noted, bikers are the worst! Insular, arrogant little pricks with their sublimated lycra Euro kits! Now I lift weights and do weighted step-ups and weighted abs on an Ab Coaster in my own dedicated weight room in my elderly condo-plex (I’m 57, but the average age here is MUCH higher) at my own times. Cut my workout time to about 60-90 minutes a day and I feel better and more defined than ever. All the better to drink some beer and surf the internet conversing with some interesting people in my little remaining spare time (I’m still a working class prick, even at my age). Ain’t getting no younger these days and I’m starting to realize it, but life is good nonetheless. Cheers, and keep up the good work!


  13. Hey DA, have you noticed they’re upping their game? CFN has gone Helter Skelter. Quentin, reducto absurdum, doggerel. Between the lines is not enough, you have to read outside of them too. The intangible is paramount. It’s where all the action is. The tangible is window dressing.

  14. DA, you’ve suddenly gone Cold and silent. Do you believe LisaM at Clusterfuck Nation is for real? If so, I have a sinkhole in New Jersey (under Q. Shtik’s house) I’d like to sell you. What’s telling is that the squawkbox that is CFN‘s comment section is playing along nicely rather than questioning the veracity of it. What I’d like to know is does JHK pay these fucks to run up comment totals, or do they pay him to play? Of course, when I say these fucks I’m referring to several operating a multitude of handles.

    Speaking of outside and between the lines, there’s this. I still can’t explain it, but I have my theories.

    OK, your comment here.

    Never forget, DA, and in this case always say never.

    • Cold,

      The real world intruded this week in the form of real work at work. Hope they don’t plan to make a habit of that shit! I’m catching up.


  15. I wish you would have consulted me before you chose finance as your field. They will make a habit of it. It’s their wont. It is interesting what gets labeled work these days. No doubt there’s effort involved, but the value placed upon the result of that effort is highly subjective and dubious. Increasingly, finance jobs in corporations these days are about preparing analysis for meetings that are in turn preparation for another meeting that is itself a prep meeting for the Big Meeting. Through all those layers of meetings, the truth, if there is any, gets buried or ferreted and filtered out. What’s left is white noise sanitized of all unpleasantries.

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