Computer Died

My computer died Friday and my old laptop is constantly crashing. Posting may be spotty for a week or so, until I get paid and try to find something affordable. If you've been thinking of contributing to Jesus' General, I'd appreciate it if you could spare a few bucks.

Something else: God damned compassion heretics:

Department of Book Reports: The Man Who Never Died

Happy Labor Day to all the "parlor radicals", leftists, anarchists, unionists, Socialists, nihilists, ordinary "wage slaves", bums and hoboes out there! Here's the perfect book, a new biography of Joe Hill, songwriter of the IWW, the Wobblies. The Man Who Never Died, The Life, Times and Legacy of Joe Hill, American Labor Icon by William M. Adler (Bloomsbury, $30.00) Adler has spent 5 years researching this and his painstaking attention to detail bring out new evidence of Hill's innocence in the murder case he was accused, tried and executed for.

Joel Hagglund's childhood in Sweden was during a time of political and social upheaval of Sweden from the Theocratic government into a socialist democratic society. (It is important to note that his mothers birth certificate was labeled "oakta", or "whore's child" and his grandmother had been marked as "slampa", or slut.) He came from a very musical family, singing in their Church choir and learning piano at an early age. After the death of his mother, the siblings went various ways. Joel and his brother Paul had caught "America Fever", they immigrated to America in 1902, where Joel assumed the New World name of Joe Hillstrom, which was later shortened to Joe Hill. Joe's early life was itinerant, traveling across the new country from job to job, until he found the Industrial Workers of the World in the labor camps of the West. Hill was in San Francisco during the great earthquake and his account was printed in his hometown newspaper in Sweden. After being pressed into service as a fireman, he then traveled by rail to Portland Oregon, where he worked as a longshoreman and was recruited into the Wobblie movement and participated in a 40 day mill strike. This was to be the first of many strikes and labor organizing efforts he participated in, including the Mexican Revolution. Adler has done an amazing job of laying out the history and background of each of these momentous battles, showing all the players and their own particular self-interests. From Los Angeles Times owner Harrison Gray Otis and his Baja empire to Utah Governor William Spry who would ultimately ignore Woodrow Wilson's request for a stay to allow the Swedish ambassador to review the case.

The IWW ignited his sense of social justice and equality and his songs gave voice to those beliefs and a voice to the workers. His songs were parodied gospels, rewritten hymns that the Salvation Army (or, the Starvation Army as Hill would call them) used to drown out the worker's protests. As he explained in a letter from jail:

"A pamphlet, no matter how good, is never read more than once, but a song is learned by heart and repeated over and over; and I maintain that if a person can put a few cold, common sense facts into a song, and dress them... up in a cloak of humor to take the dryness off them, he will succeed in reaching a great number of workers who are too unintelligent or too indifferent to read a pamphlet or an editorial in economic science."

Hill was accused of attempting to rob and then killing Salt Lake City shopkeep John G Morrison and his 17 year old son January 10th, 1914. Ignoring evidence of other suspects, the legal system was as determined to convict Joe Hill as he was adamant of not providing himself an alibi. Adler gives us three possible reasons, his conviction of his presumption of innocence, his romantic devotion to Hilda Erickson (given the history of how women in his own family were labeled), and his need to shoulder the expectations of the labor movement. Hilda Erickson was the girlfriend of Hill's long-time friend Otto Appelquist, they had argued over her that January night and Otto had shot Hill in the shoulder. Hill refused to explain this to the court and maintained his demands for a new trial after being sentenced to death by firing squad.

And here is the heart of this book. Bill Adler's research led him to Hilda Erickson's daughter, who had in her attic old letters of Hilda's, including one from 1949 in which she explains the incident to an earlier biographer. Why she never came forward at the time of the trial is still unknown.
One particular detail that I found delightful, Hilda Erickson moved to Aberdeen, WA after Joe Hill's execution. Bill told me that there was a plaque to her located at 1620 Simpson, but the house address is used as storage for the Aro Glass Company and I was unable to find it. This definitely calls for more research!

This is a particularly resonant book for our times. That this Labor Day weekend a columnist would opine that "Registering the poor to vote is like handing out burglary tools to criminals" tells me it's time to get out the Little Red Song Book and raise your voice:

While we would love you to buy the book from us, if you are near any of the cities Bill will be speaking at, I urge you to attend an event. There will be singing.

DICK!'s Mighty Weasel of Terrible Destruction

Dark Lord Cheney keeps his edge by carrying ferrets inside his pants. It's the one thing that makes him smile.

Vinylsexual Demons Ripped My Soul

Edwin Tobergta has a problem:

Tobergta was arrested after being spotted naked and having sex with the [swimming pool] raft. This was not the first inflatable vixen that led Togergta astray.

Tobergta has been convicted several times for public indecency, including a 2002 incident involving sex with a four-foot inflatable Halloween pumpkin.

I understand the shame and pain Mr. Tobergta must be undergoing. Back in 2004, I confessed to the same sin in a letter to the American Family Association's Ed Vitagliano:

I should have been tipped off by my own reactions to it [the movie, "A Shark's Tale"]: the way I kept touching myself throughout the film; how I bought an inflatable shark afterward and violated it repeatedly until it was little more than a sticky, shredded, sheet of vinyl...

Sadly, Brother Vitagliano did not respond with an offer to free me from the grips of my vinylsexual demon. Instead, he taunted me:

I hope you enjoyed your vinyl shark...Enjoy your vinyl Santa this holiday season!

To which I responded:

I was unable to enjoy my inflatable shark due to the extreme guilt I felt throughout our brief fling. I knew in my heart that it was an unholy paring, a relationship that could not be blessed in the eyes of God. I tried to find a biblical justification for it, but no matter how hard I looked, I always ended up at Leviticus 11:10 which calls scaleless fish, "an abomination."

I knew deep down inside that it was a doomed relationship. I understood that God would not allow it to continue for very long--as the commander of a Christian militia, I am supposed to be an example to the men under me. That's why he caused my little soldier to work his way into my beloved vinyl helpmeet's seam.

There is one thing I can't deny. For a very brief period, the fraction of a second before the air escaped trough the gaps between the torn vinyl and my Private Johnson, I felt a joy unmatched by any other in my entire life. It was almost worth it.

I say "almost," because in the final analysis, I had sinned. It took me many trips to the man in Seattle who spanks people for money before I felt that I had been appropriately punished for my transgression, but my redemption is finally complete. I know that God has forgiven me, and I stand spotless before Him.

But now you come along, tempting me with tales of inflatable vinyl Santas. All I can say to you is, "get thee away from me, foul temptress.

With the help of Marcus Bachmann's books, I eventually freed myself from the vinylsexual lifestyle--it's been weeks since that last incident with "Pokey" the inflatable pig--but Ed continued writing me, berating me for what he called my "sad vinyl fetish" and mocking me for thinking "spotted dick" was was something you'd only find at Neverland Ranch.

Senator Looking for a Right Good Rogering

First, an update to yesterday's post. My Amazon Review of Lord Cheney's book is finally up. Unfortunately, those who reject DICK!'s dark love are hammering my review. I need you to vote for it so it will rise to become the "most helpful favorable review."

Senator Looking for a Right Good Rogering

Another gladiator for the heterosexual lifestyle has fallen. Puerto Rican Senator and former local chair of Bush/Cheney 2004 Roberto Arango has resigned after admitting to posting photos of his cave of shame on (what I assume is a sandwich site) "Grindr."

Although libislamunistofascists were quick to characterize the photos as some kind of invitation for homosexualist sex, I doubt that's the case. As I said, Sen. Arango is a gladiator for the heterosexual lifestyle. He voted for love segregation and against civil unions and once taunted an opponent by squeaking a homosexualist rubber duck in his face.

I think he was doing the latter again here. Much like the dominance display of the red-assed baboon, he was taunting the homosexualists of Puerto Rico by displaying his cave of shame. Who among us hasn't done that very same thing at least once?

It's either that or he was looking for a right good heterosexual rogering. Being a senator is stressful. Sometimes you need to take a few moments to take your mind off important issues of state. Getting another gladiator of the heterosexual lifestyle to roger you like a naughty cadet at military school clears the ol' mind like nothing else.

Amazon Review: Into the Darkness with Dick!

My Amazon is processing my review of Dick Cheney's "In my Time" is up. You can see it here. Please consider casting a "helpful" vote if you're so inclined. It'd be great if it became the "Most Helpful Favorable Review."

4.0 out of 5 stars Into the Darkness, August 30, 2011

By

Gen. JC Christian, patriot (Tremonton, UT United States) - See all my reviews

In the days leading up to the Iraq Phase of Our Glorious and Eternal Crusade to Resubjugate The Brown (GECRB), Leader Cheney sat down with Tim Russert and spoke about our need to embrace the "dark side." This book chronicles His leadership down that sacred path into darkness, His battle and ultimate triumph over the forces of light, and His emergence as America's Dark Lord.

It wasn't an easy journey. His enemies were quick to attack each new initiative, characterizing His insatiable appetite for torture and assassination as unconscionably evil and blaming His penchant for face shooting on an inability to resist the bottle.

What His critics fail to understand is that these dark acts gave Lord Cheney the tools He needed to execute His glorious global vision.

While torture seldom provided intelligence, it gave Lord Cheney something even more important: stories to tell when peddling His policy initiatives. It did not matter that the tortured invented what the torturers wanted in order to avoid further pain. Truth was not the objective. It was the "proof," true or not, that mattered to our Dark Lord.

Assassination worked the same way. Summary execution bypasses the inherent risks of judicial involvement. A dead man can be assigned any number of actions and motives. Courts of law are too concerned with facts to be useful.

As for face shooting. You can't blame a Dark Lord for wanting to have a little fun.

Unfortunately, I can't give Lord Cheney's book a full 5 stars. He fails to adequately provide the reader with the sense of joy He obviously derives from pain, turmoil, and murder. There are no tales of bathing in his enemies' blood or feasting on their hearts or livers.

Still, this book will shape the history of our time. Lord Cheney will be remembered as a strong leader like Somoza, Amin, Mussolini, and other men who weren't afraid to embrace the dark side in the pursuit of their vision.

Bagging Allende for ITT and Supper

Dr. Tom C. Rakow
"The Bear Tooth Pastor"
Founder and Executive President
Christian Deer Hunters Assn.

Dear Pastor Rakow,

In "Devotions for Deer Hunters Vol. II," you blamed rising anti-hunting sentiments on the "increasing influence of Eastern thought on our society." You called out Buddhism and Hinduism specifically, suggesting that their belief in reincarnation is fueling outrage against hunting here in Jesus' America. I think you're mistaken.

Although as a Christian, I don't believe in reincarnation, I like to pretend I do when I'm out hunting. That way, every cottontail I shoot is Ngo Dinh Diem, every pheasant is Salvador Allende, and every deer is that bastard, Mr. Harrelson, who suspended me for packing heat in the 6th grade.

Don't get me wrong. It's not simply a way to satisfy our God-given hankering to smite the wicked. It's more than that. Most of my targets are commies the CIA killed the first time. I'm just whacking their animal forms again and again to make sure they get the message, "Don't screw with American business."

And OK, maybe the CIA didn't assassinate Fred Rogers (at least, not officially), but by gosh, they should have. I have no regrets about gunning that marmot bastard down 17 times--not after he used that damned Henrietta Pussycat puppet to turn two entire generations into compulsive self-fornicators.

Spit.

Think about it.

Good hunting.

Heterosexually yours,

Gen. JC Christian. patriot

Department of Book Reports: I'll Never Get Out of this World Alive

I thoroughly enjoyed Singer/Songwriter Steve Earle's first novel, the recently published I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive (Houghton Mifflin $26.00), It is 1963 and Doc Ebersole has his problems. Doc has a twice-a-day heroin habit; he lives in the red-light district of San Antonio, where he performs illegal abortions, and patches up the occasional knife or gun wound, as he has lost his license to practice medicine; and he is haunted by the ghost of country legend Hank Williams, to whom it is rumored that Doc delivered the fatal morphine shot. Doc spends his days 'straight', haggling with his dope dealer, Manny, having conversations with Hank's ghost, and drinking at the bar next door to his rooming house. A young Mexican woman, Graciela, is brought to him one day in need of his services; she's been knocked up by a sweet-talking Mexican-American who needs no further use of her. Doc performs the abortion, almost losing his patient to bleeding; but Graciela recovers and never leaves. Doc takes a shining to the girl. They go to see JFK's arrival in San Antonio and before the President's fateful trip to Dallas, where the girl, who very much wants to see 'Yackie', sustains a wound to her wrist, that never seems to heal. But she herself has her own gifts of healing others. Her presence turns Doc's life around, as well as Hank's ghost, as he strongly disapproves of her preoccupying Doc's time.

Earle, as you'd think, has a gift of straight forward narrative and storytelling. The dialogue is natural and his characterizations are true and empathetic. I'm certain that in his portrayal of Doc's habit, Earle drew on his own personal experience of using. Outside of William Burroughs' novel of addiction, Junky, it is the most vivid description of a lifestyle and evocation of desperation I've read. The book begins:
"Doc woke up sick, every cell in his body screaming for morphine- head pounding- eyes, nose, and throat burning. His back and legs ached deep down inside and when he tried to sit up he immediately doubled over, racked with abdominal cramps. He barely managed to make it to the toliet down the hall before his guts turned inside out.
Just like every day. Day in, Day out. No pardon, no parole. Until he got a shot of dope in him, it wasn't going to get better...."

The title of the book is from one of the last songs Hank Williams wrote. It was true for Hank, as it is for all of us. Some of us manage to get out in better shape. Some of us can experience the hope that someone like Graciela provides.


I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive is available from Jackson Street Books as well as other fine independent bookstores.