Joyner gives it to us straight.

The Peacock Throne resumes transmission from Europe, where Scott #2 is on an important fact-finding mission for an underground conservative think-tank. Everything is written in code, so if you don't get it, it's because you're not supposed to.

By the way, I looked into the future, and in thirty-five years this guy will be pope. But by then that position will be largely ceremonial and won't wield much power.

Happy Birthday, Grandma

In case you just bought a theremin and have no idea how to play it.

EL BE BOP KID

Freddy Fender discusses his cancer with bravery and dignity. "I cannot complain that I haven't lived long enough, but I'd like to live longer." Now THAT'S a man.

I've been a Fender fan for many years and recall the awe I felt watching him perform with the Texas Tornadoes about a decade or so ago. Crammed into a tight tuxedo, that wild Larry Fine hair flying and Pancho Villa moustache taking over half his face, well into middle age but still able to effortlessly drive women into a frenzy with his romantic balladeering. I won't lie, I was there to see Doug Sahm that night (I brought my beat-up copy of Mendocino for an autograph, waited by the stage door for an hour but struck out, only managing to wave the LP at the Tornadoes' limo as it pulled away forever), but Freddy Fender stole that show, and all the swooning Mexican housewives in the audience would agree with me.

I wish Mr. Fender a long, comfortable convelescence as he goes proudly into that good night. Tell Doug I said hello.

Freddy Fender Official Website

Can we just step back for a second and reread the caption to this picture? "People in Miami's Little Havana celebrate the news of Castro's illness."

I know he's well-hated, probably deserves to be (most of us do) but just how disconnected from our own humanity are we gonna get? I'm sick of all of you.

No one asked me about it, but I had a near-brush with national news on Friday afternoon. This bold hate crime occurred one block away from the Westward Seafoods office where I work. Luckily my natural inclination towards laziness led me to split half an hour before my usual quitting time of 4:00pm, which is exactly when the would-be massacre took place. The whole area was shut down tight by police, and while I wouldn't have been in any immediate danger if I had left work on time, I would have been stuck downtown indefintely surrounded by frightened, confused crowds and nervous cops with guns drawn. Once again, being a slacker has saved me from a potentially inconvenient situation. As the great Merle Haggard says, I take a lot of pride in what I am.

TROUBLED MEN AND HUNGRY WOMEN

The End Times had another chaotic, wine-drunk practice session Sunday afternoon, this time with a girl piano player who had never heard the songs before. There's potential aplenty in all this confusion, but it's gonna take a while for me to cook it down into a smokable form. Still, I'm pleased with my new songs, Kate is picking up the words fast, and even if he can't play the damn thing yet, Tyson owns and operates a lap steel guitar and he's working out the kinks with great patience and dedication. I'm endlessly thankful for their continued interest in helping to spread my message of paranoia, despair and true love. With any luck we'll be making shambolic live appearances before small groups of uninterested people before the apocalypse takes us all by surprise.

RUN PIG RUN



I've heard the stories, but never actually stole a gander at the BLACK PANTHER COLORING BOOK. Wow.

Thanks to Sharpeworld.