Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Death of a Salesman and Dr. Gonzo

There is no Arthur Miller content in this entry. Rather, I shall point you towards: Death of a Salesman: Was Rafik Hariri's assassination a Syrian hit? The article from Slate discusses whether one of the richest men in the world, friend of the Bush family, and the very Pro-western former Lebanese prime minister opposed to the Syrian presence in Lebanon was whacked by the Syrians in one of the bloodiest attacks to take place in Lebanon in decades.

An importunate international story like the assassination of Rafik Hariri barely makes a ripple in the vast American media pool of nimrods, retards, and freaks. Behold the Michael Jackson trial is getting 1/3 of the press coverage these days along with the closing of the Zoloft murder case, the NHL lockout, and Bill Gates new launch of IE7.

More Americans know what the name of Paris Hilton's dog (Tinkerbell) and have no clue the name of our current Secretary of State. "That's the way it goes in the land of the weird," as Hunter S. Thompson would drone on from his cozy office in his Colorado compound, pounding the keys on his typewriter and taking sips of Wild Turkey in between chain smoking and debunking the daily agitprop churned out by the Bush Junta. Speaking of Hunter, check out his latest article titled Fore!:
Shotgun Golf was invented in the ominous summer of 2004 AD, right here at the Owl Farm in Woody Creek, Colo. The first game was played between me and Sheriff Bob Braudis, on the ancient Bomb & Shooting Range of the Woody Creek Rod & Gun Club. It was witnessed by many members and other invited guests, and filmed for historical purposes by Dr. Thompson on Super-Beta videotape.

The game consists of one golfer, one shooter and a field judge. The purpose of the game is to shoot your opponent's high-flying golf ball out of the air with a finely-tuned 12-gauge shotgun, thus preventing him (your opponent) from lofting a 9-iron approach shot onto a distant "green" and making a "hole in one." Points are scored by blasting your opponent's shiny new Titleist out of the air and causing his shot to fail miserably. That earns you two points
Yeah, life can be absurd sometimes. I'm getting paid the equivalent of a full week of minimum wage work from a pimpled-faced, Ritalin-popping teenager slaving away at McLand in Akron combined with the weekly salary of a tattoo-riddled slacker slinging Grande Lattes at Starbucks in West Hollywood. I'm getting paid to infect the masses with my half-baked assertions of poker and gambling. Yeah, I should probably be shot. I would love to write about life, politics, and sports... in addition to getting paid for some of my short stories. Alas, I am not.

How else am I going to cover my gambling losses? March Madness approaches... can you smell the greed in the air?

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