Football is perhaps the most American sport ever devised. Born from the angst-encrusted days of post-WW2, it caught on quickly with the thoroughly prussianized populace. The entire game is a big metaphor for our own military success
Articles by Dr. Bones
The once well-meaning liberals are becoming the New Neo-Cons, closing ranks around a candidate for presidency that grotesquely distorts the values they once held so dear.
This most recent debate, billed as a rematch between an iguanadon from the mid-Jurassic and a property-pimp from New York has revealed itself to be anything but.
Amid the gallons of rain, rolling blackouts, and hurricane-force winds that recently swept Florida coastline I laid eyes on a Time magazine article that was so idiotic, so clearly drenched in Pro-State Propaganda..
Lost in the Land of the White Ape: Trump Came to Florida and I Survived (Gonzo and Conjure ’16) Part 2
My plan was not a dry retelling of the rally but one of substance, so I was content with leaving the other newsies to rot in their bubble of safety. I had questions that needed answers. Who were these people?
In a country with a youth unemployment rate of 23.50% some unknown proletarians brought home the terror and degradation they face on a daily basis to one of the most despised creatures ever to crawl out of the cesspool that is the “celebrity scene.”
Lost in the Land of the White Ape: Trump Came to Florida and I Survived (Gonzo and Conjure ’16) Part 1
The city of Melbourne, like many small Florida cities, does not rate high on the radar of Florida destinations. It does not have any theme parks to play in, does not have a Civil War history to exploit, and quietly pretends it is not currently attached to a state that specializes in unadulterated madness.
You ever heard a Florida thunderstorm deep within the state’s interior? Far away from the tourists and the oceans and the calm breeze that hints of tropical weather and carefree days?
Broken, bloodied, my stomach churned to pieces. I stumble to awaken, one eye open gathering at fragments of memories. What had happened? My phone is filled with late night calls to any writers I could think of and though the conversations are forgotten their urgent message snaps back to the forefront of my mind
There are bad ideas and then REALLY fucking bad ideas. Take for instance my recent habit of chasing whiskey with beer. I’ve fucked up, gotten lost, and even blew off quality time with the family to discuss reincarnation with my town’s homeless population.
The ongoing electoral contest between Trump and Hillary meant very little to the man being escorted off the bus. No questions posed by that pieces of plywood masquerading as a journalists were bouncing in his brain as the police officer walked down the aisle and asked him for his ID.
Revolutionaries and Anarchists will need to think deeply on the implications of so wide a surveillance network and perhaps a more primitive “back to basics” approach is in order to evade the snares and snags of Johnny Law.
I laugh in the face of death, make horrible crude jokes, and just generally find some measure of joy in situations where others might cry or wail. I’m the kind of guy that finds shit like this hilarious:
Good ole’ Hillary, she never lets me down. I had wondered when the next shoe was going to drop in the latest act of our grand collective puppet show.
As the United States totters ever closer towards total collapse and WW3 looms on the horizon, one question burns with increasing intensity in the minds of Anarchists everywhere: what can I do to help destroy things?
There are very few places that are so terrible, so utterly tinged with some dark and malignant energy that they simply must be destroyed. Like some cursed doll or haunted house there is no saving them, save for the holy and sacred cleansing power of fire.
I saw this coming a long way off, and I tried to warn as many people to abandon ship before they had their heart ripped open, but some fools still clung to the faith of their ancestors, still believed in the little red schoolhouse version of history and honest to god thought if they just voted hard enough things would change.
His eyes, black like coals, seem like pits to nothing under furrowed brows. The crowd, a mayo-colored, frightened and huddled mass of bourgeoisie hopefuls waits on the words of their messiah.
The FBI is regarded as the cream of the crop in law enforcement, an agency beyond reproach and committed to doing what’s right. Provided of course the guilty aren’t running for office but you get my drift.
In a move that shocked faux-socialists everywhere Chairman Sanders went out on stage and officially endorsed none other than the Lizard Queen herself.
We are in uncharted territory. When the DC sniper ran loose nobody felt for him; surely nobody understood his position. McVeigh was fringe, and of course a racist.
My wife’s eyes were caught in a strange dimension, torn between pointed lids of womanly amusement at the follies of men while simultaneously wide open in a look of unmitigated fear.
Change. Change is a rare bird of strange plumes, a multi-colored goddess that perches above crossroads and sings of new dawns. This bird, only rarely glimpsed, has made folk shudder in ecstasy and fear whereever it appears.
The first line started with “what I am about to say about the #OrlandoShooting may be misinterpreted” and boy, was I right. You see I am after all an “irresponsible writer.”
“We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and — in spite of True Romance magazines — we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our…