April 10, 2008
by Volt and Electra Penn
From barren Disorder, life emerged. For that seemingly impossible transition to take place, the force of gravity had to intercede. Einstein's Theory of General Relativity explains the magnitude of Force needed for Matter to coalesce while moving outward at the speed of light, and blah, blah, blah.
On one random rotating chunk of granite, where fiery eruptions belched toxins into the air, moisture formed the first building block of potential life. Sometime in the fuzzy past, an asteroid coated with alien spores, whizzed in from outer space, and smashed into a volcano. It was all Hollywood thunder bolts, with white lightening zigzagging across the sky. And then, BING-BA-DA-BING, there was DNA.
For the next several billion years the DNA of life grew and evolved until one branch, the human limb, sprouted. And (blah-blah-blah) after eons of murder, rape and pillage the obvious still stands true--- man has always been tormented by what he can't control - from a stalactite drip-drip-drip in a cave to the buzz from somebody's newfangled invention.
Today's pain in the neck is a black box secured beneath the dashboard of a car. This little debt-minder is installed by loan sharks on autos bought with a 'no money down' agreement. The idea is to make loose lenders tighter, bitch-slap credit addicted souls to attention and guarantee to make an honest consumer from every payback slacker.
It's insanity by inches. The whittling down starts a week before the car payment comes due. An incessant flashing light on the plastic box pokes its owner. Look closer and it says 'send money'. Back at the bill collector's office, if the check doesn't arrive on time-in time, the credit company signals the little black devil-box to begin a beep - beep - beep that hammers through the driver's skull---and won't STOP.
The high-pitched torture ceases only when the deadbeat is running down the street, screaming in agony. The box even pinpoints the car's position with an internal G.P.D. making it easy pick-up for a repo-man. Its legal electronic water-boarding by one smart little box that always gets its chiseler.
Rumor has it that in the next few weeks the Gangster Business Class will ratchet up the ante on delinquent mortgage payment-makers. You know the NINJA's, those schemers who bit off more debt than they could pay off, and whose plastic melted right after they signed a loan application? The mortgage companies are corralling a few sub-prime and Alt-A guinea pigs, embedding a computer chip in the central nervous system of their homes.
If the sub-primer fails to 'beat the clock' and is late on a mortgage payment, their Home-Sweet-Home morphs into a poltergeist's delight. Lights will flicker. Toilets will flush at random. The home's A/C will sputter and sling dirt, the shower will vomit orange fart water and the garbage disposal will join other appliances in planned obsolescence.
Sometimes nothing will move a human to flight, not even a house possessed. But for those homeowners who value sanity and want to keep their skin, they'll either bail out or 'send money' because it gets worse. After seven days of coaxing the late payer to get his money together, a ten minute grace period will begin. This allows the delinquent borrower to grab the dogs, the kids and the wife before all windows and doors slam shut, automatically lock, activating built-in bug bombs guaranteed to knock out an elephant.
If you think that's cruel and unusual punishment, my advice for the future: Don't be a deadbeat dad, a child molester or a Muslim, either. If you fall into any of these three groups, you'll have to wear a shock-collar. Couldn't make your child-support payment on time? Shock! Get caught on a kiddy-porn website? Shock! Bowed down to Mecca today? Shock!
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If that's not enough to put the fear in you, it just gets worse. The U.S. government is growing biological weapons inside the plastic bodies of cyborg insects. It won't be long before a moth will emerge from its vinyl cocoon stamped with 'Property of the U. S. Army' on its wing. We the People are paying for the pesky little creatures that are programmed to piss out toxic chemicals as well as spy on our private parts. We won't be safe at picnics in the park, ballgames at the stadium or in our own bed.
This U.S. Mini Moth-ra will be programmed multifunctional, too. It won't need outside light to record snippets of our treasonous government-bashing, even if it's whispered at night. Able to paralyze or kill us according to its assignment, the creature will be at the whim of a handler. Of course the official word from Washington, D.C. is, 'This freedom-loving winged creature will only be used against our terroristic enemies'.
If the past is any indicator of the future, Dr. Strangelove's nephew will be at the insect's controls, and everybody knows how discombobulated the original doc's wires were. It's possible that this new Strangelove will nuke a newborn, thinking it's a terrorist. Easy to do when both are bald, wrapped in swaddling clothes and jabber in un-clarified Bush gibberish.
Some speak of armed revolution as the only option to rid our country of this nosey encroachment. But, there's got to be other recourses available to combat an organized devastation perpetrated on us by the Gangster Business Class and the federal government.
Don't call it treason, call it reason if you need to disarm the car caddy that winks, blinks and shrieks. A course at ITC electronics would help. If you're a payment skipper, get a master electrician's license to defuse the crazies in a pit-bull house. If wearing a collar, insulate the nerves from shock therapy by stuffing inflated Trojans, the rubber kind, between skin and collar.
Nothing's funny about a child molester. My suggestion is that they offer their body to science - as a capon.
Then there's the poisonous moth that looks like your mother-in-law. Give thr old hag a job and a broom, and insist she blow-off hot air every few minutes. If that doesn't do the trick, there's always Home Depot's electric bug zapper. One bug in the zapper is worth two in a bird feeder. Or you can order the 'Terminator's Revenge' off the internet. Sold as an automatic flyswatter, the T.R. is the latest gadget worn like a hat on an empty head, and guaranteed to flap the hell out of the anything pushing your panic button.
Now if all of the above is sounding like bits and pieces of random destruction munching on chunks of organized chaos, we're back to where we started and wanted to be in the first place. We can also take comfort in a Desiderata fact that although this is the best of all possible worlds, we are living in the most impossible of times - and that's what makes life interesting.
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Have Penn they'll listen. Volt Penn writes speeches for Progressive Populists and reasoned arguments for those on the left of center. He has also written speeches for anybody who has read his work. You can reach Volt Penn through his artist friend, b.b.kemp, at bbkemp@bbkemp.com
Volt/Electra Penn copyright 2008
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