Posts Tagged DNA
Chances are you’ve seen them rampaging through the streets. They range in size from 6 foot 1 to 6 foot 4 and usually weigh between 245 and 270 pounds. They have excessively large foreheads, surprisingly short arms and enormous kneecaps. They are usually relatively intelligent, slightly clumsy, and uncommonly strong. They are Fear Factory Mice and they are the greatest threat to the American Way of Life since the creation of Social Security.
They pour forth from the faces and body cavities of the lower animals and consume all that is in their path. These mice replicate at incredible speeds, often breeding with donkeys and fish. They are capable of incredible kindness and unspeakable acts of cruelty. The wilderness is full of them. They stalk campers and hikers, toying with them by bellowing the lyrics to Fear Factory’s Top 40 single “Martyr” before ripping them apart. Yet, in some cases, they have struck up remarkable friendships with their human prey, occasionally exchanging Tupperware products with their victims before devouring their bodies.
This is why we must, under no circumstances, EVER, leave the house again.
Sometimes, they make their way into cities and battle local Mice Control Workers (MCWs) for control of poultry-themed fast food restaurants. These MCWs are often equipped with the latest in taxpayer funded, anti-mouse laser death rays. However, a swarm of them can quickly overpower a team of MCWs. At that point, the government’s options become limited. In some instances, like in the case of the former city of Phoenix, Arizona in 1998, the full-scale use of nuclear weaponry is the only conceivable way of preserving what is left of the American Dream.
In 1991, when The Great Mousehunts began, scientists were baffled the ability of the Fear Factory Mice to regenerate their wounded bodies and learn from previous defeats. While regular mice would lie in their cages and allow the doctors to poke, prod and dissect them in the name of building a better world for Americans, these Fear Factory Mice would rise up, reassemble their body parts and fight against the scientists, sometimes taking whole laboratories hostage. The mice took to the hills after being decimated in early battles with the Army, but quickly regrouped and, after signing a mutual defense treaty with Fidel Castro and the Cubans, have become a constant threat to commerce and the safety of average citizens.
Besides the significant difference in height and common “sleeve” tattoos worn on the arms of the Fear Factory Mice, it is almost impossible for the average observer to tell the difference between the two breeds until it is too late. Reactions have varied from city-to-city, but the most common response has been to move to high ground and wait for inevitable death. Conservatives have taken to storing up thousands of rounds of ammunition, stockpiling anti-mouse weaponry, praying and watching Bruce Willis movies until it is safe to enter the cities again. Liberals have started community based Mice Awareness Groups (MAGs) and eco-friendly, cruelty-free Mice Education Programs (MEPs) in the hopes of tolerating the animals to death. Until Friday, it seemed as if no one had an answer to the single greatest issue of our time.
However, thanks to the expenditure of billions of taxpayer dollars and the generosity of several of our top corporate leaders, science has, once again, saved us from the abyss of mass extinction. Years of research has led to a breakthrough of fantastic proportions. Without going into all of the science-y type details, it is clear that some mice possess a gene that causes them, upon hearing a Fear Factory song, to become enormous, flesh-thirsty beasts. By simply destroying all remaining copies of Fear Factory’s music, bathing regularly in fresh chicken blood and sacrificing one infant human on a bi-weekly basis, the threat of these killer mice will be eliminated by the year 2039.
Surprisingly, the answer to the great mystery lay in the journals of former President Calvin Coolidge. In his last days, Coolidge claimed to have been visited by men from the future that foresaw the mouse epidemic and gave him a specific set of plans to isolate the Fear Factory Gene and destroy the hordes of ravenous rodents. Coolidge tried to warn several people of the terror that awaited humankind, but no one believed him because his habit of drinking iodine had caused a rapid deterioration in his mental condition. He was killed on the night he planned to talk to a sympathetic reporter from the New York Times when a hummingbird flew up his nose and caused a brain aneurysm.
We were saved because we believed hard enough in the menacing green light, the orgiastic past that explodes from our mouths every time we scratch the surface of reality. The forest advances year-by-year, no matter how hard or how fast we strike our axes against the trees. Sure, the mice didn’t get us this time, but that’s no matter. Tomorrow, we will run away faster, flail our arms harder and eventually slip on the ever-looming banana peel, falling to our collective deaths….
So we beat on, building a better mousetrap, born to ceaselessly regurgitate the past.
(The Dissection of The Soul In Three Parts)
Bethlehem, Pennsylvannia-How much would you pay for the soul of a 5 million year old man? 10 million dollars? 20 million? 100 million? What about a billion dollars? 10 billion dollars? 100 billion dollars? A trillion dollars???
Would you give up the pinky finger on your left hand? What about your right pineal gland? Would you watch every episode of the television show Manimal? Would you become a cannibal who injects himself with Dianabol? Would you sell your children to a band of angry Saudis? Would you trade in your mother for three broken down Audis? Would you endure an hour-long attack from ravenous dogs? Would you reprise Ray Milland’s role in the movie Frogs? Would you trade dentures with Martha Raye? Would you spend Father’s Day with Marvin Gaye? Would you elope with an antelope? What about a cantaloupe?
Billionaire heiress Angelina Corpsegrinder did just that. Corpsegrinder, the granddaughter of former President John F. Corpsegrinder, purchased the soul at a nearly incalculable price at an auction on Friday outbidding thousands of lustful members of the American aristocracy. Corpsegrinder now has, within her beady little hands, possession of the one object that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that God not only exists, but also intends us to hear his outrageous and inconsistent demands.
Encased in glass in case of loss, this abandoned soul sits in a vault, collecting interest at nearly 8 percent. Corpsegrinder has had the soul examined by thousands of religious icons and hundreds of other idle idols of the breathing class. Their findings all point to one inescapable fact, that people, given the correct amount of compensation and fearing for the devaluation of their name and the deflation of their credibility, will say anything to remain unforgotten by strangers. That we are conspiring against all logic and pinning our dreams and hopes upon an empty vessel is not important, what is important is that the conspiracy continues to hold true no matter how vengefully its core fiction has been used.
Thousands have filed past a replica of this soul in the Museum of Spirit, Fellowship and Other Inane Cruelties. For years, it was thought that this replica was the only soul alive in captivity. Many believed that, in nearly every case, when one expired, the soul passed into another realm leaving only a husk of body in some embarrassing pose. And teeth. Now, thanks to the generous nature of those who possess most of the world’s resources, we can rest assured that a real soul exists.
The soul originally belonged to a Neanderthal named Arnold Mulligan. In his haste to consume the flesh of a recently slaughtered pig, Mulligan’s soul fell out of his body and fell into a tar pit somewhere south of Tupelo, Mississippi. After being discovered some years back, the soul was passed to different collectors in high stakes poker games. It eventually fell into the clutches of former Presidential candidate Adali Stevenson and has languished in a coffee can in his basement since 1964. But, that is not important. Who needs chain of evidence when there isn’t even the evidence of a chain?
Finally, a pawnbroker from Jamaica, Queens named Arthur Leo Sclerosis slumped into the vault and examined the artifact. It was elliptical. No bigger than a marble. It had been poked and prodded by the finest pokers and prodders on this planet. Its verification had been peer reviewed by peers and reviewers who had all made tenure at the finest educational slaughterhouses on the planet. They had stood in line for hours to see it, all seeking to be part of a truth that, as keepers of truth, they were free to invent. Some of them, the rebels, tried to destroy it, but Plato had told them long ago that it couldn’t be destroyed, so they stopped.
Sclerosis didn’t care. He was dying and had the freedom that only the truly condemned and utterly forgotten can ever gain. His body, ravaged by disease and disrepair, crawled towards the altar upon which the soul had been placed. He made several silly motions with his hands to confuse the guards into thinking he was part of a group of fiction providers larger than himself, then he dove face first into the case, shattering the shatterproof glass and freeing the soul from the most recent in its series of cells.
The alarms sounded. Everyone on earth froze and locked their eyes upon him. Were it destroyed, they’d have to go back to having faith in something implausibly stupid. Were it destroyed, the whole edifice would plunge headlong into a nothingness of materials careening off one another and going nowhere in particular for an undetermined period of meaningless time. Were it destroyed, they’d have to accept the possibility that God or whatever creative force begat us from Its stomach was cruel enough to simply leave us in the middle of an endless wilderness of despair with no map to get home. Were it destroyed, they might look in the mirror and come face to face with a walking pile of animated flesh killing time between now and when its life functions had ceased.
“Please…we beg you! Leave us at least the illusion of stability in this demented nightmare of an existence!!!!” they cried in unison.
He held it aloft for all to see. “This,” declared Sclerosis “is nothing more than an M & M!!!!!”
He popped it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He died at that moment, for no other reason than his heart stopped beating.
People were aghast! So little truth had flashed before their eyes since religion adopted the game show format in the 1950s that this mockery of their very existence flung them into an orgiastic fit of rage. Still…there was something to this. After all, this was an experience they had just experienced. An event. A happening. A thing. They were all a part of it. Suddenly and without warning, the guards draped an American flag over the former man’s lifeless body and hoisted him on their shoulders as if he had just scored the game-winning touchdown in a championship football game.
“HE………IS………..RISEN!!!!!” they shouted in unison.
Everyone went back to work.
On some level, we are all Glenn Danzig. I’m not really sure what on earth that means, but it seems like a fair enough way to start this weird monstrosity I’m about to write. Spending a good amount of time on social media sites tends to warp one’s mind a bit. Ideas that would have made Howard Hughes blush start to seem quite normal. All right, enough with this intro….I’m just going to come out and write it…I have spent the last three days of my life trying to become friends with every single person on Facebook who claims to be Glenn Danzig.
I’ll admit, this is a bit strange. I want to be clear that I am not cyber-stalking Danzig himself, simply people who claim to be him. The Internet allows for the human identity to be hidden or warped in many unique ways. How many of us are completely who we claim to be? However, claiming to be Glenn Danzig is a whole other thing. Why would hundreds of people claim to be Glenn Danzig online? Hundreds! I need to know! According to the Tyranny of Tradition Research Department, there are now fake Danzigs on four continents. The spread of fake Danzigism is reaching nearly epidemic proportions.
A terrible thought runs through the back of my mind every time I see a fake Danzig on Facebook. I worry that they may not, in fact, be fakes. Is there some sort of virus spreading throughout the world that converts normal citizens to bloodthirsty Danzig clones? What if these are people who died while listening to Her Black Wings and, somehow, the spirit of Danzig leaped into their bodies turning them into Danzig Zombies? Is there some Boys From Brazil type mad scientist who does nothing all day but take Danzig DNA off of fishnet he wore on the Blackaciddevil Tour in the hopes of creating an army of Clone Danzigs with X-Men type powers? What if these Danzigs have already been created and are marshaling their forces for a full-scale assault on Western Civilization? Indeed, with technology all things are possible.
Another unique aspect of the Internet is that weird people are able to communicate with other weird people that they might have never met. My internet friend Kelly from Canada and I have parlayed our mutual fake Danzig obsessions into a once in a lifetime event….DANZIG BOWL I.
Basically, we are competing to see who can collect the most fake Danzigs by Sunday July 17th at 7:00 PM. I’m not really sure what we plan to do with them. I am all for the idea of putting them in a Thunderdome style cage and having them fight for faux-Danzig superiority. Maybe the real Danzig would let the winner come up on stage and sing London Dungeon or something cool like that. Maybe the real Danzig will read this and get an immediate restraining order against me. I’m going to bet the second is more likely.
One of the great aspects of this event is the preparation. We have actually discussed whether Glenn Anzalone Danzigs should be counted. Anzalone is, as most deeply committed fans know, his proper birth name. This is a critical structural matter because it means that an additional 12 Danzigs are then in play. Then, there is the issue of poorly committed Danzigs. Should a person who uses their personal picture of themselves or no picture at all but still uses the Danzig name count in the final tally? I believe in a pluralistic approach to fake Danzig stalking. It doesn’t matter if you use your picture or no picture or a picture of a Christmas ham, if you use the name, you are a Danzig at heart. Even that fake Danzig with no picture whose entire profile simply says “Glenn Danzig, Indiana State University” can be included. Just in case you are curious, I am currently trailing Kelly 5 to 4. I had a 5th Danzig but I think I may have scared him off.
I have some pretty major plans after Danzig Bowl, win or lose. I’ve thought of creating a Facebook account as Glenn Danzig and only being friends with other fake Danzigs. We could set up a support group for bogus Danzigs dealing with issues that might plague people who pretend to be Danzig online. We could band together and throw our support to political candidates who support Danzig worthy causes and boycott all non-Danzig friendly businesses. My big dream is that there will be a day where for one whole 24 hour period everyone on Facebook changes his or her name to Glenn Danzig. Kind of like in Spartacus. I admit, it’s a strange dream, but then so is drowning in orange juice while being laughed at by forty mutant clowns wearing Richard Nixon masks.