Buy My Apocalypse Songs (15 Lyrics In Search Of Music)

Boomer Please (Buy My Apocalypse Songs)

While you’re standing around
Waiting for your grandkids to drown
Or maybe catch fire
After you’re dead and retired
You may as well listen
Get high and get pissed
To my apocalypse songs
Yes listen to this shit

Boomer please
I’m down on my knees
Everything has gone wrong
Buy my apocalypse songs

I’ve got profiles in discourage
From The Airplane to the bees
Failed stories faded glories
All you need is flowers and beads
From Stealers Wheel to The Troggs
From glitter glam to 60s mods
And there was surely Pussy Galore
Stick around you won’t get bored

Boomer please
I’m down on my knees
Everything has gone wrong
Buy my apocalypse songs

We didn’t stop the fire (rept)

Actual Apocalypse (2020)

Everyone’s a prepper now
Everyone’s a mutilated cow
Everyone is making vows
Everybody take a final bow

Actual apocalypse
It isn’t fun like watching Mad Max
it isn’t clever like Oliver Sacks or
Insanely great like Steve Jobs’ Macs

One mask is for the disease
One mask is for the smoke
One mask is for avoiding police
Last toke before we’re broken

Actual apocalypse
It isn’t fun like watching Mad Max
it isn’t clever like Oliver Sacks or
Insanely great like Steve Jobs’ macs

2020 that was the year
2020 the vision is clear
Gonna need four more beers
Drown the fire in my tears

Actual apocalypse
It isn’t fun like watching Mad Max
it isn’t clever like Oliver Sacks or
Insanely great like Steve Jobs’ macs

Ring around the platitudes
A pocket full of smug
Call & Response (rept. Many times)
East Coast Chorus
“Water water everywhere”

West Coast Chorus
“Ashes ashes”

Surfin’ Weatherman

You don’t need a weatherman to know we’re toast
Shit’s getting Biblical from coast to coast
I’m moving’ to Ohio where the chicks are groovy
Surfin’ with Mike Love we’re gonna make it a movie

(to the tune of Surfing USA as stolen from Chuck Berry’s Sweet Little 16)
And they’ll be surfing in Boston
And in the ruins of Pompei
Deep in the deserts of Kashmir
L.A. has gone cra-cra
They’ll all be grabbing their children
And all their property too
Tell everybody they’re surfing
And everything is cool

You don’t need a weatherman to know we’re toast
Everybody’s freakin’ from coast to coast
Going’ back to California where the chicks are pissed
They’ll kneel before my virtue when I raise my fist

And they’ll be shooting deniers
And oil CEOs
And all Republican Senators
And every Fox News host
They’ll all be grabbing their children
And all their property too
Tell everybody they’re surfing
And everything is cool

The Stepfather Of His Country

He was the stepfather of his country
But he raised the kids as his own
He gave them ears of corn — oodles of porn
But when they bought bad cocaine they earned his scorn

& when they all got older
He turned them into soldiers
Strapping tote bags to their shoulders
filled with weapons of mirth
It was all rather cheery
He read them Dr. Leary
Until those silly numbskulls
Decided to give birth

That was just the final straw
This was just what killed their pa
“Birth & death stay from my door
What do you think the porn was for?
To make you each one onanistic
Now I’ll get a bit fascistic”

One by one he ate his grandkids
Chowed them down like gutted pigs
Except one who was schizophrenic
& could produce some anaesthetic
Together they drifted into a coma
Singing gleeful songs of soma

& thus a world was born & died
All because of a stepdads pride
It takes a village to make things fair
Fuckin’ stepdad didn’t care

No Rest For The Precariat

Dumb easy feckless proles
Matrons danced the Watusi
Hoodlum malcontents did the stroll
Early tech geeks couldn’t find sushi
Assholes like me were relentlessly droll
Dads at home acted like il Duce
Middle class kids weren’t on the dole
Everyone bowled and went to the movies

But now there’s no rest
Now there’s no rest
Now there’s no rest
For the Precariat
But now there’s no rest
Now there’s no rest
Now there’s no rest
For the Precariat

Punters fighting punters
Owners sailing yachts
We can jump into the fire
But we cant afford new Reeboks
Nothing much is left to say
It’s cyberwar from day to day
Street distress from night to night
Play instruments of madcap blight

And now there’s no rest
Now there’s no rest
Now there’s no rest
For the Precariat
But now there’s no rest
Now there’s no rest
Now there’s no rest
For the Precariat

The Smarter King Of Deliria

The girl at the ticket booth
Started wailing and weeping
With all the grieving
A body could hold seething
& the bouncer standing near to me
With cracked and violent idiot glee
Was swinging his fists randomly
Saying everybody gets in for free
But first you have to get passed me

Everyone from all around
saying stuff that sounds profound
& a smarter king of Deliria
That day was duly crowned
& if you listen a wee bit closer
To all the people in the ground
You’ll hear them screaming loud

& this is the sound

[Follow with Ornette Coleman meets Jimi Hendrix 8 minute jam]

Pulp (rept)

One slimy gulp
Cheese contrasts and compliments
A hint of leather methamphetamine crashing
Disconsolate poisoned rockabillies smashing
Or just a washed-up cabaret
Playing themes around a town without pity

Laughter as much as revulsion
Prayer beads of a tactless devotion
A goblin drinking from a guilty pump
Ectoplasm and it’s slithering amok
Could be Falstaff but I know it’s Puck
Get thee to puppetry to come unstuck

There’s something special in the grime
Lipstick smeared before a wife of crime
The whipped clean sheen of a mall
It’s only pulp but here have mine
Love ain’t like anthrax at all
It’s only pulp but give it time

It’s only pulp but give it time (rept)

Lip Sync Ships Stinker

Torn limb from limb by the mean girls at the orphanage
Glued back together in a spirited attempt at hoodoo bricolage
Went on a rampage of irreligious sacrilege
It didn’t matter to her a whit if it was Islam or written in Sanskrit

Lip syncs sink ships
Uncle Fester loves Trent Reznor
Polly the hijacker wants a cracker
Lip sync ships stinker

She sniffed the air tingling & tasting loves uneasy lunacy
Saw sorrowful vistas spotted with funereal urns
She rang a doorbell brought her neighbors an eerie shrieking doll
with that invasion they entered the dreamlands of the unwell

Lip syncs sink ships
Uncle Fester loves Trent Reznor
Polly the hijacker wants a cracker
Lip sync ships stinker

Infinite Troll

In this lightly sprinkled phase
Of quasi-historical banter
Do you like Phyllis Diller
More than Paul Kantner?

I challenge you to a high stakes game
Of triage and hospitalization
Nearly fatal illnesses terrible stillnesses
What have you got to lose then?
You have no friends and might just mend
The betting starts and some day it ends
That’s when the payoff takes its toll
Chased across the data in an infinite troll

And now I need an infinite rest (and that’s death)
Now I need an infinite rest (and that’s death)

Live Free Or Dye Your Hair Pink (2021)

Live free or dye your hair pink
The choice is easier than you think
There ain’t no choices just cacophony of voices
It’s the entire kitchen sink
So while we try to make sense
Ideas are being steamrolled by events
While we try to make sense
Ideas are being steamrolled by events

An intoxicating mixture of dogshit and fennel
Chowed down right there in the very kennel
A handful of bros and their surly bitches
Laughing in the faces of beheaded snitches
And if’n that don’t float your boat
See what the news is with your remote
Yes pandemonium comes to all seven seas
Pirates with nukes and the deadly bees

So take a moment to name your poison
To run with the wolves or hang with the boys ‘n’
Take a quick pic for an NFT fortune
Or just wait around for the next bus to Boston

The Enlightenment Entitlement

Yoginini Joes has a private shaman
She screams “don’t interrupt me” at her maid called Carmen
Who’s polishing the Paltrow vagina candle
When Yogini Jones flies off the handle
Shouting “don’t touch that talisman
It awaits the sacred phalisman
Unenlightened wretch you make me tired
I live in perfect peace and you’re fucking fired

The next thing you know Yoginini’s giving lectures
On how to stay positive — her bodyguard is Hector
Hector is a killer microdosing PCP
And Yoginini Jones is selling branded tantric pee
In a definite misunderstanding Yogini contacts me
I tell her I can’t help you dear — maybe try Flea
Flea invites him up to his place for wine and brie
But hw just won’t get behind the branded tantric pee

(repeat 3 times)
Enlightenment entitlement
Tantric pee is heaven sent
Buy Gwyneth’s sacred scent
With a tasteful dash of decadent


A Brief Discourse

I got the word from the Bolshevik shaman
Who thinks he’s also a Hindu Brahmin
Drank Iboga from a patented cup
I just shrugged and said “Cool what’s for supper”
Around me people were puking up shit
Put it on youtube — it could be a hit
They cried and tugged and gouged at their eyes
Pluck them out was not that surprising

But back to the operatic scene at hand
The long and boring road from madness to bland
Like reeling in the years and bobbing for Snapple
Getting paid to keep it low down and subtle
When that “all hell” broke loose I was in the back

Brokering a truce and wearing a dunce cap
Trying hard for death with pills and soda
Hovering around for just one last Mimosa


The edgelord built a sneerbot
He knew it would replace him
When it came time to upload his mind
He slipped away on a vacation
He hid out in Tangiers
Imagining he was Brion Gysin
But Edgelord pals can’t be trusted
And one day one slipped him some ricin

And we were laughing all the way to the bank
But we found the account was vacant
We tried everything from flash to bland
And to making the sex more blatant
We tried pitching to the British ravers
And to the sincere planet savers
And to the loony libertarians
Who didn’t do us too many favors

And the sneerbot said…
Haw haw haw they used to wipe there own asses
Haw haw haw they used to wipe there own asses
Haw haw haw they used to wipe there own asses
Haw haw haw they used to wipe there own asses

And the sneerbot said…
Look at this history of the human masses
Haw haw haw they used to wipe their own asses
And look at this dude tryin’ to boil his own eggs
Man those humans was on their last legs

Watched jocks and the hippies share a kegger
And give free oysters to the local beggar
I’ve seen this all with my very own eyes
Man these humans they take the fuckin’ prize

and the sneerbot said
Haw haw haw they used to wipe their own asses
Haw haw haw they used to wipe their own asses
Haw haw haw they used to wipe their own asses
Haw haw haw they used to wipe their own asses

Blank Panther Party

The universe is made of Crayola
I lost the ‘70s thanks to payola
I was a member of the Blank Panther Party
Ripped on coke and Bacardi

I learned to multiplex before I could add
I was a murderess before I was sad
My micro-mini is way below my knees
I ain’t no goddamn tease

I hit the racetrack I was loaded with cash
Was feeling guilty and a wee bit rash
Bet all my winnings on a system crash
And now I’ve gotta dash

The universe is made of Crayola
I lost the ‘70s thanks to payola
I was a member of the Blank Panther Party
Ripped on coke and Bacardi


Well I used to be disgusted
And then I tried to be amused
But now I’m just plain flabbergasted
At the depth of the abuse
And I’m not singing ‘bout a bad date
And I’m not singing ‘bout ya 2 minutes hate
I’m looking at the new level of crazy
With their hands wrapped around our fate

Does anybody remember the quantified life?
(R. Plant voice) Does anybody remember laughter?
Does anybody remember the balcony speeches?
Does anyone remember bloodletting and leeches?
Does anyone remember the days before then?
Lugubrious meetings with remake-able men
& Little Brother is watching one and other
So mark your turf — Then run for cover

Helter luxury Shelter

When you get to the bottom of the world
Just find some expensive California girls
Build a luxury home with all the convenience
Invite three billionaires and one digital genius

You’ll start a new race that’s probably pale
This human race is about to fail
Don’t worry ‘bout them you’ll soon set sail
From the launching pad in the desert sun
Who knew holocausts could be so much fun
In your helter luxury shelter
In your helter luxury shelter
Days of fire and desert swelter
In your helter luxury shelter

They Canceled Lenny Bruce

Do you remember when chaos was a state of play
Do you remember “punk rock is here to stay”
Do you remember when Sister Ray was très outré
When Bowie asked… “or even yesterday?”

I’m wearing deplatform shoes
I’ve got the fear monger blues
When you ain’t got somewhere
You got no choice to choose
And now I’m yesterday’s news
They canceled Lenny Bruce

I still have a glimmer of rascalinity
But now it’s one inch short of divinity
My jest is a million miles from infinity
I may be creepy crawling towards morbidity

I’m wearing deplatform shoes
I’ve got the fear monger blues
When you ain’t got somewhere
You got no choice to choose
And now I’m yesterday’s news
They canceled Lenny Bruce

I used to chatter to the birds and bees
Grabbed the branches and climbed the trees\
I’m picking fleas, man… all this disease
All that’s left now is to vomit and sneeze

I’m wearing deplatform shoes
I’ve got the fear monger blues
When you ain’t got somewhere
You got no choice to choose
And now I’m yesterday’s news
They canceled Lenny Bruce

Say The Right Thing

(first movement: Simcerely)

One more shot at glamour
Everybody’s dead in Alabama
Your status symbol’s your latest trauma
Don’t bring the noise bring the drama
Bring all the bad karma
& the Dalai Lama
& lay your burden down on me
Come on lay it down

Simcerely yours
You’re the boss
Just a lost cause
No remorse

(second movement: Draw the Curtain)

Last blast of spectacle
Termite feeding on the bloated corpse
I want a piece of the action
Fuck y’all and your way rad factions

Reemergence as the prince of naught
Truly ready for the triumph of the nil
All the hip kids need a reason to go on
Like ’73 when I saw Satyricon

The next 4 years were sexy and steamy
I thought I was Frederick Fellini
It was a blast it couldn’t last
I even wound up with my dick in a cast

Chump change with President Carter He said peanuts I said barter
A punk group was a total nonstarter
Drunken blonde was my perfect partner

She had a poster of Ulrike Meinhoff
She knew how to kick and she knew how to scoff
When the boys tried to climb on board
Her cutting words were as a sword so…

Last blast of spectacle
Termite feeding on the bloated corpse
I want a piece of the action
Fuck y’all and your way rad factions

(Third Movement Say The Right Thing)

I live in a world of perpetual crisis
We want to get out but we know what the price is
Death come fast
After this repast

They’re all certain
Bring down the curtain
They’re all certain
Bring down the curtain
They’re so young

They’re no fun
They’re so young
They’re no fun

Trite makes right
Trite makes right
Walk upright
Walk upright

I live in a world of perpetual crisis
We want to get out but we know what the price is
Death come fast
After this repast

It’s tasty in the bakery
Sticky in the mines
We’re trying to get out
Just tell me when it’s time

She’s got the bling
But she says the right thing
It don’t mean a thing
Of thee we sing

(rept with increased stridency)

Say the right thing

Leary, Mondo2000, and TESCREAL

Propaganda poster by Ed Reibsamen with a little help from Midjourney

Article by Aragorn Eloff

There’s been a lot written lately about the so-called TESCREAList ideology that is currently hegemonic in the Silicon Valley tech circles frequented by people like Elon Musk and Peter Thiel. TESCREAL stands for transhumanism, extropianism, singularitarianism, cosmism, rationalism, effective altruism and longtermism – terms that are probably at least intuitively familiar. Reading recent critical descriptions of this facile, elitist ideology, which is driving a lot of the hype around machine learning, I’m struck by how familiar it all seems. Listening to a podcast on 60s psychedelia on my run this morning, it suddenly all made sense.

It turns out you can trace a pretty direct line back from TESCREAL ‘philosophers’ like Kurzweil and Bostrom to Wired magazine and the extropians mailing list, and from there to the legendary Mondo2000 magazine – a 90s tech-enthusiast counterculture publication from California put together by old sixties heads enthused by nascent technologies like the web, VR and ‘nootropics’. Indeed, 1992’s Mondo 2000: A User’s Guide to the New Edge, a gorgeous typographic mess of glossy 3d graphics and paeans to the coming techno-singularity, feels almost like a secret peek into the TESCREAL gang’s wildest fantasies, although regulars like Douglas Rushkoff, Mark Dery and Bruce Sterling were admittedly far more interesting than the current dreck. Mondo 2000 was, in turn, the successor to the less glossy High Frontiers and Reality Hackers, 80s publications that mixed cyberpunk and surrealism with phone phreaking and experimental music. And then, of course, there was the psychedelic enthusiasm, particularly the strong echoes of one Timothy Leary.

1980's computer graphic of Timothy Leary and the words Timothy Leary's cyberdelic experience

As a diligent student at the Hofmann and McKenna school for young dropouts in the early 90s, I devoured all the Tim Leary books I could get my hands on. Classics like Psychedelic Prayers, High Priest and The Psychedelic Experience, but also an oddly singular text titled Neuropolitics: The Sociobiology of Human Metamorphosis, published in 1977. The book was written while Leary was languishing in jail for his psychedelics advocacy, and marks a shift in attention away from LSD and towards quintessentially TESCREAList topics like space migration, life extension and so forth. Indeed, Tim essentially argues in the book that by the year 2000 we’ll all be immortals travelling through space and indulging in increasingly exotic pleasures while expanding our intelligence using computers and smart drugs. As a useful heuristic, he coined some acronyms that are particularly revealing: SMI2LE (Space Migration, Intelligence Increase, Life Extension), HOME (High Orbit Mini-Earths) and HEAD (Hedonic Engineering And Design).

Essentially then, Tim Leary, psychologist and psychedelics guru, synthesised a fairly significant chunk of the philosophy that would become TESCREALism while sitting in his prison cell, undoubtedly fantasizing about the great outdoors and all the experiences he was missing out on. My fellow students and I also spent a fair amount of time in the early 90s learning how to SMI2LE and use our HEADs while gazing up into the stars waiting for our new HOMEs to be ready. In retrospect it was in large part a naive fantasy fueled in no insignificant part by prodigious consumption of 5-HT2A receptor agonists.

There is a grain of intuitive truth to Leary’s dreams, of course -—we could and should try to enrich life in whatever way we can – but when divorced from the messiness of real life in all its social, political and ecological complexities, SMI2LE, like TESCREALism (and, yes, like Fully Automated Luxury Communism) is the kind of indulgent hopium that’s fine, perhaps even vital, when you’re 16, but probably not when you’re a billionaire with immense economic and political power seeking to enact your juvenile fantasies at the expense of the rest of the world. More importantly though, the TESCREALists are far, far more boring than Leary and the Mondo crowd. We could do a lot better.

Aragorn Eloff is an experimental musician and long-time wanderer through the counterculture. He is based in South Africa, where he is currently working on a PhD on the philosophy of psychedelics. He writes on anarchism, embodied cognition and the philosophy of Deleuze and Guattari.

Review Sacred Rites by Antero Alli

Sacred Rites: Journal Entries of a Gnostic Heretic
Antero Alli
Falcon Press

review by R.U. Sirius

Antero Alli has been a master at gifting others with their presence in the moment and in the world as it is… and the world that we feel and imagine, although he is too humble to make such claims. His ritual journal entries bring to life the personal and group dynamics of some of his “sacred rites.” Herein Alli takes us with him as he dances on light and falls, stumbles and hurts, rises with great inner strength and then backs off and makes space for the others to struggle and play with their own angels, demons, ancestral Jungian archetypes, mutable gendered forms, true memories and conjured reflections and refractions of their personal and group experiences past and present.

Who else has shared hir journey into a sort of embodiment of depth psychology married to the theatrical and cinematic artistry of a unique individual mind? Did Gurdjieff leave behind such generous notes? Did Artaud ever climb out of his own tortured mind to guide others into a theater of revelation and share the results? I think not.

As a lonely writer and minor league media trickster playing and toiling in the fields of counterculture and model agnosticism — I am jealous of those who got to be present for Alli’s physically active deep soul uncoverings — these experiences that he calls Sacred Rites. I always intended to join one of these experiences but time was my master and my excuse. I was a busy little beaver playing in McLuhans spider web of endless mediations where I have amused and (I hope) occasionally informed others while eking out a bare livelihood feeding and housing my own brief experiment in embodiment. I now understand that this experiment would have been more successful if I had allied with him for an experience or two.

Antero Alli black and white photo

When I first met Antero way back in the 1980s we were both working and playing under the influence of the neuro-political and exo-psychological maps provided by Timothy Leary and Robert Anton Wilson. Leary brought us the theory of the minds’ evolution in tandem with biology and technology (tools). Bob Wilson gave it clarity and a heart. Antero Alli took the mind and the heart of Leary/ Wilson theory and gave it a body. He brought with him an influence from Jerzy Grotowski and his paratheatrical theories. As Alli writes, Paratheatre was “combining methods of physical theatre, modern dance, vocalization, and standing Zazen to access the internal landscape of forces in the Body – the impulses, emotions, sensations, tensions, and other autonomous forces – towards their spontaneous expression in movement, vocal creations, symbolic gesture, characterization, and asocial interplay.”

What a lovely contribution from E.C.C.O (Earth Coincidence Control Office) to bring Alli’s unique imprint into alignment with this relatively obscure path. Here, in Sacred Rites, Alli’s interior observations hide within them a map to the work he has been doing for some 46 years. It’s all here. How to create asocial interplay. How to conjure and embody visions and insights through the use of archetypes. How to move people from their stuck places. It’s not a cool cerebral picture. There’s a lot of howling, weeping. I would venture that there’s even some gnashing of teeth. Alli brings you inside these sessions and this text will leave you wanting more. Fortunately, the work will continue. Read the book and find out.

Simcerity: R.U. Against NFTs (period question mark or exclamation point) Join MONDO Vanilli & R.U. Sirius in VR on March 20

image by Chad Essley

Simcerity: I’m Against NFTs (It doesn’t matter much to me)


When Marcel Duchamp — possibly at the suggestion of Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven — dropped that urinal on an art gallery back in 1917, he signaled the world of art, contemporariness, galleries and capital that their was a new jest in town.

image by Jay Cornell

image by Jay Cornell

Value was to be an abject/object poke in the eye of the beholder. Bourgeois 20th Century was readymade for its closeup pisstake. Excrementalism would soon follow. Warhol branded it in the context of mediation — firing not the first but the most influential implication of infinite gesture into the rapidly virtualizing human condition. Now, this very year, someone has finally popped Jeff Koons balloon. Are we free yet?


CNN: “Vanderbilt University apologizes for using ChatGPT to write mass-shooting email.”

Simcerity has always been at least somewhat reflexive in the public arena. The medicine showmen who mounted the stage, the corporate publicists who still do… the countercultural media pranking yippies, and all the purchasable cultural products from recordings to cinematic experience — all have worked and hustled (and continue to) this tricksy interzone between direct lived experience and virtuality — an otherish imaginal space of work play and mutual infections.

In 1990, the fake band Milli Vanilli was busted in the media for lip-synching music they didn’t sing and that was recorded by by professional studio musicians. A preposterously bland piece of pap, one of the brands’ recording was rewarded with a Grammy by the wise persons of the music industry. When I read about the great lip-sinking crisis while editing a piece for MONDO 2000 about life in simulacra, I decided to form the band MONDO Vanilli. It was to be a VR band. We embraced authentic inauthenticity — taking the pretense out of pretense. If we would make music (and we weren’t sure whether actually engaging in activity other than gestural branding was a violation of our spirit), we would lip-sync without apologies. We would franchise MONDO Vanilli, allowing only performance artists and ultra-banal copy bands to use the moniker. Eventually we actually used $90,000 of Trent Reznor’s Nothing Records’ money to record an actual album. Nothing was released. Credit Reznor with being true to his brand.

Some years later… last year, in fact, two of the three MONDO Vanilli members reunited across 1000 California miles — and with help from punk rock madman Blag Dahlia — we recorded the song “I’m Against NFTs.” Now it’s being turned into a virtuality by our friends at

We planned, of course, to offer our anti-NFT song as an NFT. (Will it happen on March 20? We don’t know.)

Flashing backwards to 1993, suffice it to say plans to make MONDO Vanilli a dadaist multinational corporation failed. Or maybe it succeeded but Musk — in his mad randomicity — captured the brand as part of his delirious career of evil.

image by Ed Reibsaamen

In 1991, in MONDO 2000 magazine, Timothy Leary wrote a piece about the David Byrne produced book Reproduced Authentic. In his review (advocacy really) Leary celebrated the hoped-for death of the value of the “rarity” in favor of the (early) internet fueled aesthetic of replicability and direct person-to-person or group-to-group transmissibility of art without the intercession of stuffed shirt art establishment gallery owners or, presumably, capital.

Mostly borrowing from Walter Benjamin, Leary wrote “Transmissibility replaces rarity. According to German philosopher, Walter Benjamin, ‘The authenticity of a thing is the essence of all that is transmissible from its beginning ranging from its substantive duration… to the history which it has experienced. ‘Rarity’ now is a… mask of art’s potential for meaning and no longer constitutes the criterion of authenticity. Art’s meaning then becomes socially (and politically) formed by the living.’

Leary continues, “…recreating the Mona Lisa. The 12 year-old inner city kid can slide the Mona Lisa onto her Mac screen, color the eyes green, modem it to her pal in Paris who adds purple lipstick and runs it through a laser copier which is then faxed to Joseph Kusuth for the next GALERIE VIA EIGHT show in Tokyo.” (Or as Bill Burroughs wrote, “LOOT THE LOUVRE!”)

Ahh, but the demands of capital remained static even as the signifiers started getting confused. Rent seekers still wanted some currency.

And so we accelerate into a darker cavern built by Mondo’s anarcho-capitalist pals (we were friendly sorts, perhaps too friendly) the cypherpunks. And with help from a cryptographically, quasi-democratized means of exchange, we sink at last into the unalloyed chaos of mass digitization as it merges with gold-rush obsessions with inauthentic/authentic/inauthentic cryptocurrencies. Spendable (or sometimes not) digits with Joker names and Riddler brandings like Shitcoin or Cumrocket pretending to have all the veracity of Bank of America or Well Fargo (i.e. not much) appeared and continue to. Some have the intent of running scams. Others are intent on keeping your stash (sort-of) hidden from the man. And the folks we love best are intent on giving opportunities to starving artists and excitable nerds.

R.U. Against NFTs?

Let me confess that I’m aware that I have many smart friends who have idealistic narratives around NFT, cryptocurrency and this whole web 3.0 shebang. I think it takes a certain kind of mind to want to grasp the complexities therein. Other smart friends just gaze at the offering and shrug. I can’t help but feel like it’s ultimately the same fascinating trickiness offered by finance capitalism with its derivatives and so forth. A distancing mechanism. But I’ll be learning.

Meanwhile, as a purely visceral observer hoping to offer “I’m Against NFTs” as an NFT, what baffled and befuddled this old ‘90s cyberculture guy was the question of why something rather clearly disappearingly abstract could be perceived as having a large capital valuation when captured by a buying individual.I mean, not even an upside down urinal or an exploded ballon animal necessary. Just some peculiar essence delivered in digits. And it clearly doesn’t even need to appeal to the sophistry or pretense of avant garde purchaser. NFTs are a populist playground for some adapters and offerings are often banal (and not in any self-conscious way.) Sometimes its the enthusiasm of the gamble or of the game and sometimes just… what?

As I questioned on various advisors who work the NFT market about how to bring our anti-NFT song out as an NFT (and I did feel that a successful one would be almost required for the gesture to be aesthetically complete), I learned that it wasn’t necessarily exclusive access (rarity) to our song that someone would be purchasing. Maybe/maybe not they told me. It appeared that I was truly in a kind of exploded space of valuation in which the rationale for a purchase would be individual and conjured from some peculiar sense that arose either from an absolute lack of content or all the content of the moments’ zeitgeist. Commodification of art at its most random decontextualized form. How very MONDO Vanilli. Dada eats its tail.

Cypherpunks Legacy

Today I write before you as a confounded old man staring down the barrel of crypto and the NFT in confusion. But all of this started with the original progenitors of crypto-cash, the crypto-anarchists who were named the cypherpunks by my frequent writing partner and MONDO 2000 Senior Editor St. Jude. The cypherpunks were in the (MONDO 2000) house. Family.

The cypherpunks or crypto-anarchists were intent on absolute lawlessness, at least in terms of the policing grasp of law enforcement, the taxman or curious fellow citizens. Cryptocash was to be untraceable by all except those engage in an exchange based on digitized anonymous trust. Today, law enforcement, journalists and other data seekers are able to penetrate that anonymity… sort of… with luck. The totalizing intentions of the original cypherpunks have given way to a mess engaged in uncomfortable intercourse with mainstream exchange; all of it contextualized by a universal precarity of capital highlighted by the materiality of bad weather.

Can we still be at play in the simulacra? We’ll try.

Join us on the road to nowhere on March 20, when I, R.U. Sirius, will deliver a talk followed by a presentation of the “I’m Against NFTs” virtual space by Playa Labs Z. Come, put on your vr goggles or just float through using your very ancient eyes and join this audiovisual dance in the shards. It may be the last.

Regarding the immersive “I’m Against NFTs Experience, PlayLa.bZ says:

R.U. Against NFTs.. Immersive Experience takes the perspective of an AI system that is training itself on the RU Sirius ‘I’m Against NFT’s’ song lyrics, exploring a surreal and mind melting 360 world of paradoxes and conflicting rules. The experience challenges our assumptions about the nature of technology, creativity, and value, reminding us that the digital world is shaped by powerful forces that determine what is valued and what is not.

The original I’m Against NFTs song is a satirical, irreverent block-chain busting commentary on the ‘Web 3’ hype around non-fungible tokens and the broader issues that underpin our hyper-connected infinite scrolling age. The song is a rejection of the idea that money is the be-all and end-all of human existence and a critique of the deep-seated corruption and power imbalances that shape our economic systems. R.U. Sirius may or may not be against NFTs, but his song is a broader indictment of the global technocrat homoeconomicus system that values profit over people, and nothing comes for free.

Join Us!

Gimme Helter MONDO Vanilli 1994 – Video 2023

New video for Gimme Helter
by Satori D 2023
MONDO Vanilli from IOU Babe 1994
(Scrappi DuChamp – Jonathan Burnside)
Comments regarding co-creating and producing Gimme Helter for MONDO Vanilli and about Trent Reznor whose erstwhile record label Nothing had (sort of) signed MONDO Vanilli and paid for the studio time to produce an album.


by Jonathan Burnside as told to R.U. Sirius
First… Jonathan Burnside according to Jonathan Burnside


Jonathan Burnside, music producer, studio engineer, mixer and guitarist. Years ago, I started a studio (Razor’s Edge) for the San Francisco  alternative music scene that produced albums for The Melvins and Kurt Cobain, Faith No More, soul-drummer Bernard Purdie, NoFx, Clutch, Red House Painters, Michael Franti’s Disposable Heros of Hiphoprisy, Lag Wagon, Fu Manchu, Sleep, Neurosis, Lunachicks and many others.


On Gimme Helter
Gimme Helter is the most terrifying song I’ve ever worked on. And I’ve done bands like Neurosis and Melvins where the whole thing was to be as scary as possible. And in the end, they’re a bunch of suburban kids with fucking loud guitars. So what? Sure, your mother will probably find it scary.

I think Gimme Helter is like one of the most extreme industrial songs I’ve ever heard. There’s nothing pretty about it. And the subject matter is horrifying in itself.

There’s a part in the middle of Gimme Helter where there’s a guy saying, “I’m a soldier man, listen. You guys don’t love us no more.” He was always down at Hayes and Divisidero. And he would always walk hunched over with this green parka pulled up around his head… a big African American dude. Some people told me he thought he had demons and he was trying to trap ’em inside so they wouldn’t go to anybody else. Some people said he had no teeth. Whatever.

I pulled up to him in my pickup truck. And he was at the bus stop. And I’m like, “Hey Buster man, what’s up? What’s the deal man? How’s life?” And he’s completely out of it.  And he gave those quotes. And then he saw that I was actually recording him, and he tried to attack me. [LAUGHTER]  He lurched forward, and I got the hell out of there. And then not long after that, right after the album was completed, I was in Popeye’s Chicken on the corner near there just getting something quick to eat and he comes busting in the doors, falls on the floor, and does bloody snow angels all over the floor and dies. He had been capped in the neck.
Here you’ve got a song with the voice of Jim Jones and all these crazy people. And then you’ve got somebody probably more real than all of them. Some poor fuck that got chewed up by America and spit out shot in Popeye’s.  He died right there in front of me. I didn’t stay to eat.


On Trent Reznor

I didn’t think Reznor would get IOU Babe at all. I really wondered about that the whole time. And especially the subject matter. It could have been a little close to home.

Nine Inch Nails was pretty much wrap it up in plastic and sell it to the world. Downward Spiral’s a good album. I’m not putting it down. But it’s very genre specific.

The only thing I remember about Trent Reznor backstage is that he had the limpest coldest handshake I’ve ever felt in my life. Honest to God, I thought somebody handed me a dead trout. I thought I was supposed to kiss his hand ’cause, literally, he placed his cold thing on my palm.

R.U. Sirius Philosophy Of Modern Song… naaa…

I’m reading and enjoying Bob Dylan’s preposterous, eccentric and enjoyable “The Philosophy of Modern Song” (not Nobel Prize material) and around the same time, I stumbled into this attempt to explain what I was thinking of as my Top 40 favorite songs. I think I wrote it somewhere between five and ten years ago and I would put them in a different order now or maybe change a few.

Not as dreamy or odd as Dylan but still worth a quick read perhaps.



40:  I Was Made to Love Her  Stevie Wonder

Just pure joy, rhythm and exuberance. I’m pretty sure this will be the last thing on my list without a tinge of melancholy or politics or strangeness, so enjoy it while you can. I also had a childhood sweetheart named Suzy and I still sometimes suspect that I was made to love her, although that’s long past.


39:  Venus In Furs  Velvet Underground

Yes, yes. It takes after the novel by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, the man who gave masochism its good name, and the music hurts so good, does it not?  Slow, slightly-off instrumentation and yet a hummable through-line. The payoff is in the lines: “I am tired. I am weary. I could sleep for a thousand years.” Blunt but literate blues for when you’re coming down or going down or getting old.

38: Long Black Veil   The Band

I never liked The Band all that much… or I didn’t realize how much I liked them until I started considering this list and several of their mournful classics popped up in my head and wouldn’t let go. It’s a western (as in cowboy) tinged murder ballad, but the lyrics and music set a mood more than they tell a story.

37:  Wish You Were Here  Pink Floyd

All rise for the baby boomer national anthem! Oh wait, they were Brits. Well, same difference. If you’re between 57 and 67 and the lyrics don’t slay you, you weren’t paying attention then or you’re too comfortably numb now.

36: Blank Generation  Richard Hell and the Voidoids

Richard Hell took John Lennon’s angriest slashiest guitar work and slashed it twice as hard and three times as fast (2022 edit. The guitar may be Voidoid Robert Quine)… and these lyrics are as good as anything Lennon ever wrote (except for maybe a few lines in Happiness is a Warm Gun).  The entire album of the same name is arguably the masterpiece of early NYC punk.


35: Only The Stones Remain  Soft Boys

At the start of the ‘80s, Robyn Hitchcock’s spirited jab at the beginning of the end of whatever that thing was that happened in the prior two decades. It’s exuberant, it rocks, it’s surreal and it’s a bit funny. That lad had a great career ahead of him.

34: Angry Johny   Poe

There are plenty of one hit wonders but this one rises above the rest. Perfectly executed… and I do mean executed. A song for the age of Gamergate? (note: this was written a while ago)

33: Watching the Detectives  Elvis Costello

Sometimes the music… even just the bass line… is so perfect and weaves so elegantly in and out of the words… that my language fails me. Incidentally, in my opinion, Elvis (along with the Attractions, on occasion) had the longest string of consecutive really good albums in the history of recorded music — from My Aim is True through Punch The Clock.

32:  Pleasures of the Harbor  Phil Ochs

More melancholia… this one involving soldiers and prostitutes, rendered with as much tenderness as can be mustered by a human. And with a lovely melody to match. Ochs is remembered for his protest songs, but it’s his more complex lyrical and musical pieces that ought to be recognized.

31: Rocket Man  Pearls Before Swine

No, not that Rocket Man (although that one was certainly ok… about as good as it got on the AM radio at the time), this one came first and is much stranger, although the storylines intersect in a way.  The hits are going from melancholy to melancholy…est here. I had to check to see if Tom Rapp (the man behind Pearls) committed suicide. Heck no. He quit music and became a successful civil rights lawyer. And he started performing again in the ‘90s.


30:  Brown Sugar   Rolling Stones

The best colonial anti-colonial work of genius you’ll ever have the privilege to misunderstand or underestimate. Genet in a perfectly faceted 3 minute rock song. The old fella probably doesn’t remember those early 1970s influences.

29: The Boxer  Simon and Garfunkel

How many great lines can you pack into one song? Lyrically profound (not a word one uses often in pop music), with a nice crescendo near the end that brings out the emotion of it all.

28: Anarchy for the UK  Sex Pistols

Even having already absorbed The Ramones, Richard Hell, Patti Smith etc., this song was like a clarifying explosion on a nuclear scale. It intended to blow the cobwebs off of the rock, which still presumed to have a drop of countercultural cred. No horseshit should have survived it (unless it was genius horseshit on a Dalinian or McLarenian scale). And yet here we are still baptized in banality (to steal a phrase from Jeff Koons). I sometimes wonder if younger people can get the full impact of songs from the ’60s or ‘70s so out of context. (Assignment: explain to me why Hello Goodbye was actually clever.) I meet some who do… and they amaze me.  Oh yes, music… I think the Sex Pistols were not just a rebel legend, but a great band, fresh in the way that The Beatles were fresh in ’63, at least when they still had Matlock on bass.

27: Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands  Bob Dylan

If it were my top 100, there’d probably be about 5 Dylan songs on it, but this one takes the cake. It brings out Dylan’s poignant romanticism, his empathy with women (with the barest hint of misogyny), his Whitmanesque Song-of-Myself romanticism (“My warehouse eyes/My Arabian drums”), and even the length of the song signaled epic (before that word was so abused) when it was released in 1966. The music is lovely. He’s a very tender and evocative harmonica player when he wants to be too.

26: Black Peter   Grateful Dead

I was never much of a Deadhead.  But there was something about their mournful side so tinged with sweetness and compassion and Jerry Garcia’s voice that does it for me.  This one is about dying: “See here how everything leads up to this day/And it’s just like every other day/That’s ever been.” Robert Hunter pretty much sums it up… as he often did.



25: Papa Don’t Take No Mess  James Brown 

Rhythmically this is as good as James Brown gets and James Brown was as good as it gets. Papa sounds a bit abusive, but you want to clean up that mess for him because of the way this record moves your body soul and spirit.

24: Ghost Dance  Patti Smith Group

Here’s another one that may be hard to get out of context. It may even seem a bit pretentious for a countercultural punk rock poet to conjure Native American spirit and outrage, but in 1978, the repressed promise of the late ‘60s was still raw enough for this to feel right. It still touches me, in that way. Marianne Faithful got it, and did a really good version with help from Keith Richards and Ron Woods, but Patti Smith Group’s version is the best.

23:  Waterloo Sunset  The Kinks

This one is just whimsical and lovely.

22: We Gotta Get Out Of This Place  The Animals

The title says it all. Eric Burdon and company apply all the power of working class white boy blues to the problem. As a suburban white boy, my first real blues experience was probably hearing The Animals play House of the Rising Sun. I remember it. I was playing football with some kids on my front lawn and as the song played, I was thunderstruck. I felt something. Everything stopped for a moment. And then the football hit me on the face. A few minutes later, I was stung on the throat by a bee. First World problems… white boy blues.

21: I Put A Spell On You  Screamin’ Jay Hawkins

Really? This Voudou was on the radio in 1956? No wonder fundamentalists were freaking out about rock ‘n’ roll! I vaguely remember liking it as a child, but a crazy Brit called Arthur Brown really put it on my radar during the ‘60s with his own insanely great version. Loved it. Listened to the original again and loved that even more.


20: Space is the Place  Sun Ra

Twenty one minutes of cosmic vibes, honking and chanting that will come to take you further away than any magical mystery tour ever could. I think of this as Sun Ra’s theme song. If you don’t know Sun Ra, check it and enter into a whole new dimension of hyperspace. I was fortunate enough to live in a town that the Arkestra played twice in the early ‘70s. Thanks to this I knew that George Clinton was possible.

19: Halo of Flies  Alice Cooper

Meanwhile, back on earth, trouble was brewing. I once recited various Alice Cooper lyrical fragments to some English students and asked them to guess who wrote them. I don’t think they will ever forget that Alice Cooper and the guys who were in his band were freakin’ weird-ass geniuses. This is the ultimate Alice and has been covered by a gazillion different metal bands since. Music for mercenaries, psychos, revolutionaries and other demented types.

18: Get Up (I Feel Like Being a Sex Machine)  James Brown

The definitive James Brown with the sex up front. And his bands, in this case the J.B.s, were always precision funk machines — wound up tighter than a clock because if they messed up, James would fuck ‘em!  OK, not literally. But they learned to duck cause papa didn’t take no mess.

17: Madame George  Van Morrison

A somewhat obscure, brave and loving portrayal of a bohemian transvestite, lyrical and touching, with that Van Morrision touch of repetition/incantation that he mainly saved for his longer efforts. This one is 10 minutes and I could listen to it for another 10.

16:  Entertain  Sleater-Kinney

All the rage and all the brilliance of smart punk (riot grrl division). Really, every line is golden… mainly thanks to the delivery.


15:  I’ll Take You There  Staple Singers

“Ain’t no smilin’ faces/Smiling at the racists” Ok, so they made it officially “races” instead… but it was the early ‘70s, so we heard it the way we thought it… some of us.  Never mind. The rhythm and the vocals scratch at all the funkiest parts and that’s all you need. It really will take you there.

14:  Kashmir  Led Zeppelin

I’m not sure if there’s anything mystical and/or magickal about Kashmir… I think maybe Page has his face buried in Magick in Theory and Practice and took a wrong turn on his way to tangiers.  but it hardly matters. Plant and Page used their hallucinations to evoke some monumental psychedelic transmutational spirits. I think  Kashmir is an architectural Big Rock masterpiece. The fact that I heard this while high on DMT while crossing the Bay Bridge in the back of a van has only slightly colored my view. It was my favorite Zep song before that revelatory experience.

13: Pressure Drop  Toots and the Maytals

Back in ’72, ’73, everybody was listening to The Harder They Come soundtrack but this was the cut that made you jump up and let go.  It’s been doing it ever since.  “Pressure’s got the drop on you you you.” The message has survived every zeitgeist. In fact, I’d suggest that there’s a Moore’s Law of pressure. You better go work it out on the dance floor.

12:  Soul Kitchen  The Doors

Here’s everything you could want from a Doors song and if you dis The Doors I suggest you revisit this one.  Passion, poetry, blurred visions, bruised brains… it’s 1967! That whole first Doors album is pretty much perfect.

11:  Paint It Black  Rolling Stones

Paint it black you devils!  Well, it’s nominally about a lost love but it’s actually about, well, painting it black… as in… let’s have a RIOT! In the Rolling Stones approved bio film, Crossfire Hurricane, the song plays to a collage of kids going berserk, rioting and attacking cops at Rolling Stones concerts and political protests. The ending is the real pay off… a sort of chant with a middle eastern edge. It invited a sort-of frantic ‘60s youth hora dance preparatory to revolution. Really, this sort of thing would happen then.


10:  One Nation Under A Groove  Parliament Funkadelic

It’s the feel good hit of the multiverse and representative of the best of the US of America (the best Clinton America has). I vote for it!  I blasted this one out at full volume the instant Mr. Obama got elected (the first time) in 2008.  It didn’t turn out that way, but if anybody can get us to feel the hope for change of a funky and fairly trippy sort, it’s George Clinton.

9: Tears of Rage  The Band

Some of Dylan’s most compassionate and deeply felt if slightly elusive lyrics made even more sorrowful by The Band. Richard Manuel’s vocals are at the very edge of a man about to weep and wail.

8: All Tomorrow’s Parties  Velvet Underground

Do I even really have to explain this? Nico, The Velvets, Lou Reed’s lyrics evoking a slightly tatty lower Manhattan Demimonde and the music just right.

7:  O Superman (For Massanet) Laurie Anderson

Laurie’s work was somehow too self-consciously cool and clever to bring us back for frequent listening, but on those occasions when we were in the right mood, she was our mischievous mistress of postmodern ceremonies.  This was the sort of bust out hit song (to the extent that a performance artist gets a bust out hit song) and, if it’s not exactly emotive, it’s certainly haunting and very extraordinary as in non-ordinary.

6:  Danger Bird  Neil Young and Crazy Horse

In all their ragged glory. Neil Young hitting all those slightly off–minor keys and strangling passion out of one of those slow almost-note-free guitar solos. There are a dozen Neil Young and Crazy Horse songs that are very similar that I like almost as much.


5: Memo from Turner  Mick Jagger

“You’ll still be in this circus when I’m laughing in my grave.” Where did that guy go? Well, at least we still have the recording of one of the most lyrically demented (and sharp) songs in music history. “You gentlemen,  why… you all work for me!” Well, at least that part came true.(Ry Cooder should have gotten credit for the music. And the stones rolled everyone)

4: God Only Knows  Beach Boys

I remember I was 13 and we were visiting some friends of my parents somewhere near a beach on Long Island. There was a girl who was somewhere between my older brother David’s age and my own and she was flirting with him. I went back to the house where I found the Beach Boys 45 Wouldn’t It Be Nice sitting next to a record player. After listening to the A Side, I flipped it over. I heard God Only Knows. I was transfixed. For years, I thought of that song as my own little secret. Now it’s a widely recognized masterpiece.

3:  The Thrill of It All  Roxy Music

Whip yourself into a hedonistic frenzy. It’s perhaps ironic that rock’s most elegantly brilliant posers made this song to drive you out of your mind and make your body shake and quake like no other, but there you go.

2: God is Alive, Magic is Afoot  Buffy Saint-Marie

Take one narrow rationalist, add a dose of whatever, wait two hours and sit him or her in front of the speakers as Buffy intones Leonard Cohen’s prayer in an ominous and shaky voice. Repeat yearly. Me? I’m officially agnostic, except when I’m not.

1: I Am The Walrus  The Beatles

Probably the most influential entertainers of the 20th Century, The Beatles stormed the barricades of what was thinkable and feel-able for teen idols just a couple of years after holding our hands  and this one… my god, how could they? It was 1968. I was 15. I had just finished the section in Herman Hesse’s Steppenwolf in which Harry Haller has his mind blown and his ego stripped bare in the Magic Theater when the DJ on the AM radio drew my attention to a new Beatles single that he was very excited about. As it played, a shock of exultation ripped through my skull. It was at that moment that young Mr. Sirius shed the earnest seeker and transmuted into a Heyoka (which Lord Nose translated for me as Lakota for “upside down inside out man.”)



To Mainline the Pure Dope of Illuminatus!

An Interview with Illuminatus TV Showrunner Brian Taylor


by Prop Anon



In December 2019, Deadline announced that Illuminatus!, the legendary underground novel, was on its way to becoming a tv show with Brian Taylor, writer/director of the movies Crank, Gamer, Mom and Dad, and the tv shows Happy! and Brave New World, slotted as the showrunner.  

Like Wilson, Taylor has taken risks with his craft. Whether it was developing “the Rollercam,” an innovative camera technique used to film Crank with his creative partner Mark Neveldine, or beta-testing the Sony RED camera while filming the underrated sci-fi gem Gamer, Taylor welcomes the inclusion of what Discordians call “the random factor.”

Wilson would give props to the risks Taylor has taken. Choosing to be the showrunner of a story with as labyrinthine a plot structure as Illuminatus! may be Taylor’s biggest risk of all!

Read more “To Mainline the Pure Dope of Illuminatus!”

Grant Morrison Surveys the Situation In “The Age of Horus”


Interview by Prop Anon

For those familiar with, Grant Morrison needs no introduction. Over the course of his long career, Morrison, and his generation of punk rock warlords, busted through the doors of the lagging comics industry — sorely in need of some power chord clarity and imaginative story lines — and proceeded to take readers on new paths of literary discovery. Morrison’s genius use of tropes, his subversions and inversion of same, are so much fun to read. It’s all there, the light and the dark.

Times are dark. Since the last time I interviewed Morrison, in 2017, Trump and his idiotic minions have rolled out the red carpet for the angel of death. Morrison knows what’s at stake. However, don’t ask him for specific details about the daily plays of politricks. There is little need. The ebullient Scotsman continues to trek the antipodes of the mind, dropping gems and jewels like Chester Copperpot (from The Goonies), educating readers how to vibe right and live like rock stars during a possible apocalypse.

In this interview we discuss his newest television show Brave New World which features an Artificial Intelligence, named Indra, that feeds on human brains to survive. Morrison also provides an update on the progress on his The Invisibles tv show, as well as his insights into Robert Anton Wilson, magick, the Aeon of Ma’at.


Read more “Grant Morrison Surveys the Situation In “The Age of Horus””

The President Addresses The Nation

The President Addresses The Nation

R.U. Sirius January 8, 2019

I see them all lined up at the border
killers, gangsters, rapists…

Ravers with drugs
Bugs with diseases
Mr. Freeze
Old Sandinistas
Bolton just told me there’s Zapatistas
Angry strippers who use the name Rita
Members of ISIS carrying Pita

vampire bats
gals wearing pussy hats
Soros’s minions of liberal fat cats
Knee takers carrying baseball bats

Masked Antifas throwing rocks
Vicente Fox
Honduran children with chicken pox

IRS agents have joined the throng
Octavio Paz arm-in-arm
With Robert de Niro and Erica Jong
Mueller supporters who know I’ve done wrong
Emiliano Zapata on the back of King Kong
Streisand singing that stupid song

Hillary Clinton is down there too
Professor Chomsky and his radical jews
Even the truthers are turning on me
Why can’t I just make a decree
This is a national emergency

Yes there are monsters south of our border
I need a wall against this disorder
Dictator or prison – that’s how I see it
Yes it’s an emergency soon I will decree it

Mrs. Santa Claus is coming to town

by Destinyland

The problem isn’t “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” Holiday traditions age slowly — and poorly — and we find ourselves waking up to a whimsically wintry wonder world as we try to apply our new modern sensibilities to Christmas itself. The TV show Glee once famously bypassed all the tricky gender politics by simply having the song sung by two adorable men.

But here’s the bad news for feminists. For decades Christmas has been depicted as a male-centric holiday dominated by a man-giver and his man-elfs. (Even the reindeer all seem to be male.) And if you dig a little bit deeper, it just gets worse. In Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, the classic Christmas special, Burl Ives even tells youngsters how Donner the reindeer’s wife — Mrs. Donner — was forbidden from helping find Rudolph because “this is man’s work.” (Leaving Mrs. Donner in tears…)

“Are women bad at looking for things?” asks the Women’s Media Center (a group co-founded by Jane Fonda, Gloria Steinem, and Robin Morgan.) In a critique titled “Rudolph, the Sexist Reindeer,” they cite other complaints about the children’s special’s frequent bullying (and also it’s “sheer creepiness”), before noting that ultimately the special “is pretty clear that the boys join in the reindeer games while the girls stay off in the corner…swooning? Admiring?

“Life isn’t all that different for the female elves either.”

But now, the hopeful note. Throughout our history there’ve been inspiring attempts to fix the holiday’s one-sided gender balance. For example, back in 1953 Nat King Cole recorded a delightful tribute to the Christmas-y role played by Mrs. Santa Claus, who helps the couple eke out their North Pole subsistence by personally feeding hay to all of Santa’s flying reindeer. And apparently she’s also in charge of important Christmas-related responsibilities, including sleigh-packing, gift-wrapping, and a crucial advisory role for Santa’s whole toy-delivering operation.

Mrs. Santa Claus briefly turns up in the 1964 film Santa Claus Conquers the Martians — albeit for roughly 32 seconds. (The entire miserable film was once heckled by the robot hand puppets on Mystery Science Theatre 3000.)

But an important message was thus delivered to the next generation of film-makers. Yes, Virginia, there is a Mrs. Santa Claus. Back in 2013, Saturday Night Live delivered a brash skit in which Mrs. Santa Claus complains about the travails of a marriage where “your husband is unemployed for 364 days a year, and he’s a thousand years old,” calling Christmas Eve the day “when Santa finally gets his lazy ass out of the house.” And a later SNL skit even shows what happens when Mrs. Santa Claus gets sexually harassed by pervy elves.

Here’s my point. 2018 saw a growing push for more women in media and government, and a greater representation throughout society in general. So why isn’t there a movement to give a larger role to Mrs. Santa Claus? Why do we spend each Christmas focusing on an aging white guy who can see you when you’re sleeping?

Let me just put it this way. I know a lot of parents who’d feel much more comfortable if their children were sitting on Mrs. Santa Claus’s lap….

And to the end, one film was way ahead of its time.

In 1996, Broadway legend Jerry Herman was 65 years old. But 12 years after his hit La Cage Aux Folles, he took one more crack at skewering our society’s gender roles, writing the entire score for an original TV production titled Mrs. Santa Claus. Given a lavish Christmas production from Hallmark Home Entertainment, the film starred Angela Lansbury — the first person to sing “We Need a Little Christmas” (in Herman’s 1966 hit Broadway musical Mame.) Mrs. Santa Claus describes herself as “invincible,” singing that “the moment has come to beat my own drum because, I want the world to know there’s a Mrs. Santa Claus!”

It’s not to be confused with the 2018 horror film “Mrs. Claus”, in which she’s a serial killer rampaging through a snow-capped suburbs.

Instead, this film glows with a gentle holiday glow of feminine pride, as Lansbury croons that “I’m coming your way, keep an eye on my sleigh…” The critics called the film “endearing” and “sure to be an instant classic” — before it vanished into obscurity for the next 20 years. The DVD “has long been out of print,” warns Wikipedia — but the film has suddenly come back to life in the cloud, and Amazon Prime customers can now watch it free. (Or you can snag a used copy of the DVD for $4.13.)

So this Christmas all those male-centric grinches better watch out.

Because Mrs. Santa Claus is coming to town.