Mayor McCheese, we hardly knew thee

I've been freelancing for the McDonald Land Times lately, here's a piece I'm proud of....

Phinnaeus Marshall McCheese, the much loved yet sometimes controversial 13 term Mayor of McDonald’s Land, died earlier this morning of apparent heart failure. McCheese was 51 years old.

Mayor McCheese, a born McDonald’s Land native, is already being heralded by many as the greatest elected official in the history of fast food inspired fantasy worlds and will be sorely missed by all those he left behind.

McCheese’s rise to political power was as inspirational as it was improbable. Despite being born into extreme poverty and the product of a substandard public educational system (not to mention overcoming the social stigma of being born with a cheeseburger for a head), McCheese defied the odds and pulled himself up from the mean streets of McDonald Land ghettos to become the city’s longest running mayor. Born the son of poor immigrant parents, McCheese learned early in life the value of hard work. When his father was laid off from his janitorial job at McGlobo Corp. (the scientific company best known for its extensive studies to determine exactly what “The Grimace” is) young Phinnaeus got an after school job at the tender age of “rare” to help ends meet around the house. After graduating with top honors from McDonald Land High, McCheese was granted a full scholarship to Burger University where he majored in political science and obtained his degree in liberal arts and milk shake studies in just two years.

Post-graduation McCheese made two unsuccessful runs for city council as the voters of his district deemed him unfit for office largely due to the fact that he was thought to be too young, too inexperienced, and he had a burger as a head and face. Despite the wide spread discrimination of the time against food-skulled citizens, McCheese continued to campaign and saw his first big break in 1978 with the passing of the “food people initiative” which finally granted McDonald Land citizens with food products for body parts the right to vote. That year food people flocked to the polls in record numbers and McCheese easily won a seat on the council in an upset victory over the incumbent council member Dr. Von Happymeal.

After four successful years on the council McCheese began his now famous “Take Back Our Streets” campaign in his first bid for mayor. His platform was based mainly on right wing issues like being tough on crime and a call for a return to “family value meals.” The climate of McDonald Land at the time was that of fear and McCheese’s promises of safer streets struck a chord with voters. Citing the burglarization of hams by dangerous criminals like the aptly named hamburglar as the “the ills of our society that must be cured,” McCheese’s hard-nosed tactics and “three strikes you’re lunch” policies won him a landslide victory.

McCheese’s long run as mayor wasn’t without controversy however. In the mid ‘80s he came under fire for using an insensitive racial euphemism to describe potato fried people, when a local paper quoted him referring to a group of young McDonald Landers as “those damned lazy fry guys.”

Also, later in his career, McCheese gathered criticism when he

unsuccessfully tried to have himself appointed Mayor for life.

“The ‘mayor for life’ bid really hurt Phinneaus’s standing with the public,” said long time campaign financier Early Bird. “I mean as great of a mayor as he is, he has to remember that McDonald Land is a democratic state and that the will of the people must be heard, not dictated by a lone official. I think the bloody coup that ousted the Burger King late last year is poof enough for most people that burger monarchies don’t work.” Ms. Bird said at the time of the controversy.

Despite these set backs, for many citizens McCheese will always be remembered as McDonald Land’s beloved mayor. A public funeral will be held at town hall on Tuesday. In an ironic twist it is also the same day a scheduled unveiling of a statue of the late mayor was set to be dedicated outside McDonald Land Public School 158, where young Phinnaeus was a student nearly 40 years ago.

Ronald McDonald, popular local clown and award wining sculptor, designed the statue complete with a slide and compartments in the statue’s head for small children to play in while they pay tribute to the recently deceased mayor. “I wanted to capture not only the pride and dignity that Phinnaeus brought to the office of Mayor of McDonald Land, but also to create a place for our young people to be able to hang out inside a plastic, cheeseburger-shaped head." McDonald said. "That to me really defines his work and speaks volumes about what he did for us as a public servant.”

The McCheese statue, which will be unveiled Tuesday, is said to closely resemble McDonald’s “Whopper of a Copper” memorial (pictured left) which was created in honor of Officer Big Mac, tragically killed in the line of duty during The McNugget riots of the early ‘90s

George's Last Laugh

Let’s see, what’s in the news today. HMMM. Lost is back, that's kinda fun. I heard that the Academy is thinking about giving an Oscar to the dead killer clown/broke back mountain kid, that's sweet. Oh look here’s something, we have a black president now. Well dip me in butter and call me Shirley, ain’t that the darndest thing, a black fella running the free world....

I know that everyone on earth is talking about this, so here at PDR we’re gonna try to avoid internet redundancy by not commenting too much on hsi first few days in office, but I speak for the whole staff when I say, “HOLY SHIT THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES IS A BLACK DUDE!” This is amazing, and to be honest I’m still pretty shocked.

I live in Boston, which despite its Democratic history, is without a doubt one of the most racist places in America. There were vicious bloody and political battles here over school intergration as late as 1977-1978. That means just 31 years ago people in my hometown were fighting to keep white kids and black kids from being educated together. Only 31 years ago?! That’s a blink of an eye as far as progress is concerned. For Christ sake the Simpsons has been airing for 20 years. In my lifetime, my city has gone from having thousands of white Bostonions not be able to stomach the idea of sharing dilapidated books and classrooms with black kids, to help vote a brother into the White House. Un-fucking-believable. I’m legitimately floored and excited about the future of America, that hasn’t happened in a while.

Speaking of which, let me be honest and say that, in a weird kind of way, I’m gonna miss Bush. To rational Americans he was our Newman, but he was also so unbelievably inept that watching him was fun in a “what’s he gonna do this year” kind of way. Like your drunk, slightly racist grandma at a Christmas party, you didn’t agree with anything she said, but you were always curious to see what the crazy fucker was going do next.

Plus I made my living as a punk rock musician for his entire tenure as President. Do you know how much money we made exploiting that prick and his megalomania? Between all the songs, anti-Bush T shirts, patches, buttons, etc... the bastard practically paid my rent for a decade. He was like Regan and Thatcher rolled into one! The Exploited, Dead Kennedys, and their ilk from the 80s only wish they had someone like that in office when they were still relevant. Bad government makes for good punk rock, and I for one wasn’t gonna let W run the country’s name into the ground without getting my slice of the pie. No siree bob.

So it was with great joy, but a light tingling of remorse, when I watched Bush’s farewell address to the nation last week. No big surprises really… “We haven’t had a major terrorist attack under my regime…um I mean presidency. The Iraqi people are now free-er to indiscriminately kill each other over religion than they were previously, etc…” Pretty much everything you’d expect him to say. But while W. was waxing philosophical on his time as commander in chief I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was going to be some big revelation that somehow made sense of his presidency. Like he’d just dead pan to the camera and say something that would some how justify the past 8 years.

Of course nothing like that happened, and the more I thought about it I decided that the only thing that would truly make sense to me is if right after he said, “good bye and God bless,” Ashton Kutcher walked out from behind him laughing hysterically, with one of his trade mark trucker hats, poised ever so slightly askew, atop his pointy little head. The K-man would then throw his arm around Bush’s shoulder, while W tries in vain to stifle laughter, and blurt out: “YOU GOT PUNK’D AMERICA!!!” and then the two of them double over in hysterics. The staff members and press people there would all have that confused look on their face, look around the room until they see the hidden cameras and start to laugh too. “We got you guys good!!!” Bush would say, jumping up and down like an over excited child. “I can’t you believe you thought an elected official would do all that shit! I figured by the first 5 months you guys would’ve figured out that this was all joke but y’all kept on buying it so we just kept going!”

“And then… then… there was the second election?!!” he says, trying to calm down and wiping a few tears from his eye. “I thought the producers of the show were crazy to try to keep the gag going for another four years. I lost the popular vote but still somehow managed to stay on as president? How did you guys not see that one?! I love you America. You’re gullible as shit, but God damn I love ya anyway.”

At this point Kutcher, still struggling for composure, mugs his pouty little lips at the camera and over gesturing with his hands, chimes in: “Seriously, the second this guy started bugging your phones and sending your kids off to die, for like, no real reason, I thought for sure the cat was outta the bag! But you didn’t suspect a thing! Hook, line and sinker for two terms! So PUNK’D!!”

Then the cameras cut to live video footage of poor, displaced, black people in FEMA trailers outside New Orleans, unemployed autoworkers watching repo men carrying furniture from their foreclosed homes, and malnourished, Middle Eastern men in orange jump suits, wide eyed from fear and sleep deprivation at Guantanamo Bay. They’d all look a little confused for a second but then bust out with those big, goofy “you- got- me” grins and start shaking their heads and laughing.

And since it’s my fantasy, next the brown kid from That 70s Show would all the sudden show up from out of nowhere and start palling around with Kutcher. But right when the credits start to roll he rips of his stylish John Deere mesh hat to reveal a small turban and then shoots both Bush and Aston right in the fucking face. Turns out Fez was actually a contestant on an Al Jazzera reality/game show titled: “Who Wants to Win the Heart of America, Fuck Lindsay Lohan, Then Bring Death to the Infidels?’.

I hate reality tv but I’d watch that show in a heart beat… that Lindsay is such a train wreck.

So yeah that last 8 years have been that nuts, here’s hoping for a better new year. Keep trucking America.

SO its come to this eh?

Well it's official, I am once again unemployed. Got my walking papers last week from my temp job working at Massachusetts's largest charity organization. Seems with funding down and requests for help up in all the food pantries and homeless shelters there wasn't room in the budget for a glorified email forwarder. Kind of a bum out, but with so many starving people to feed, paying me to google my name all day long did seem kind of ridiculous. Besides, without a pesky thing like a job to monopolize my time I am now free to pollute the cyber-sphere with unrequested insight on a multitude of unimportant and/or pointless topics! Wanna hear the non-sensical ramblings of an unmotivated, uniformed, malcontent with an undeserved chip on his shoulder? Welcome aboard my friend. Got a hankering for a few long winded stories about a mediocre music career, as told by a man with no musical talent and what can best be described as marginal story telling abilities? Come on in, we'll make room for you. Oh look, there's an aisle seat free, right near the window too. Must be your lucky day champ.

So yeah, here it is, my first foray into the soul bearing world of blogging. Exploring the hot button topic of... pet ownership...

I love my cat. I know… guys with cats, weird right? Usually I get pretty hung up about arbitrary things that threaten my fragile perception of my own masculinity, but cat lover sits just fine with me for some reason. (To this day, I have NEVER held a girlfriend’s purse in public while she tries something on. These are women who voluntarily sleep with me/put up with my shit/post bail etc... but I still can’t bring myself to shoulder a 4 lbs bag for them in Target so as to maintain my inflated sense of machismo around the retarded people/stoned teenagers who stock the Keds in the ladies’ shoe section of a department store. I suck.) So yeah, no purse holding, no using straws when I drink, no carrying umbrellas… I pretty much respect every stereotypical ‘man law’ which has been forced upon our society through brow beaten husbands on sitcoms and/or commercials. (Coincidently, I’m fairly sure that most things on TV are written by pale, sickly, English majors that are so self conscience about their own lack of masculinity that they over compensate by writing contrived, slightly ironic characters and dialogue that they think middle American men can relate to. In turn mid American males see said show/ad and, being the sheep they are, assume that if its on TV it must be true and adopt the nonsense as their own personal philosophy. So really we have anemic, noodle arm English Majors to blame for the modern American Neanderthal male, but that’s an argument for another day…) 

 

So yeah I’m dude, into ‘dude’ stuff, but when it comes to cat liking I let my feminine flag fly. As far as kitties are concerned, I’m like that slightly overweight woman in human resources. Y’ know the one who starts wearing Christmas sweaters in mid November, and talks about her cats like they were people and not just the evolutional equivalent of hairy mice traps? Much like her I’m a ‘cat person’. This is not because I’m maturing and becoming confident enough in my own skin to be able to openly express love, (gross). I think my affection towards the feline has to do with the fact that cats help male animal lovers fulfill their need to be around critters, all without sacrificing their delicate sense of their own masculinity. To further the point I’ve complied the more compelling reasons for your enjoyment and/or discussion…

 

No Public Affection 

 

“Who’s a good boy? Who is a good little boy? You are! Yes… you… are!” I know not every dog owner talks like that, but if you care enough to own a pet, chances are you talk to said animal affectionately. That’s fine. In fact if you own a pet and don’t ascribe it some sort of personality and show it affection, you’re probably a borderline serial killer. But cats being indoor animals, or outdoor ones that don’t require you to hold their hand in public, negate such displays in front of other people.  I have nothing against talking sweetly to an animal, I just wouldn’t do it around strangers. Dog parks/walks tend to make men expose soft and fuzzy parts of their personality to strangers in a manner that never comes up with a cat. I talk to my cat regularly, but it’s more conversational than baby talk. If I’m on the couch and he strolls into the room a typical exchange would go as thus:

 

Me: ‘sup buddy, kill any birds today? Eat any mice?

 

Him: Blank stare, with just a smidgen of annoyance conveyed in the eyes, followed by repeated blinks, topped off with a furious grooming of his junk area.

 

Me: cool, I’m going to the bar for two days… see ya when I get back.

 

It’s like having a really chill roommate. We hang out when it’s mutually convenient but there’s no talking about feelings, or open displays of emotions. That shit is for the birds, or more accurately for the dogs.

 

 

Work Makes The Man

 

Real men work for things. Most people tend to take a path of least resistance in life, and everyone likes a free hand out now and again, but for the most part anything worth having/doing has to be worked for. This is precisely why sluts are popular at 2 a.m. in shitty bars, but no one really wants to date them. Sure a sloppy hand job in the men’s room is cool in an ‘I’m drunk you have a palm and most of your teeth, let’s light this candle’ sorta way, but no one is wooing or proposing to these girls. (And you can bet the damn farm that no one is EVER holding their purses in Target while retards and teenagers snicker in hushed tones form behind a wall of shoe boxes.) The sign of a real man is the one who rolls up his sleeves, digs his heels in the dirt and works for what he wants.

 

But getting a dog to like you is not work. It takes so little effort to elicit love from a dog that it’s almost insulting. For the most part, once a dog realizes that a human is not an immediate threat to him and his owner, they’ll shower anyone with the most god awful display of needy affection this side of a fat girl at a junior prom. Gross… and a little sad. For a cat to like you though, you gotta earn it. Establishing a relationship with a cat is like dating a girl that’s just a little out of your league. At first they’re aloof and kind of bitchy, but they’re also coy and smart enough to return your devotion with the smallest response necessary to keep you interested. Based on this token gesture of affection you suddenly work even harder for their approval. You pay them special attention, compliment them for doing shit that anybody with half a brain and basic motor skills can do etc… Though this display is a little sad and detrimental to the human, over time the two of you gradually develop a mutual, hard earned connection that’s worth more than a thousand freely given doggie kisses (a.k.a. getting licked by the same tongue that a few seconds ago was furiously probing the inner regions their doggie anus.)

 

Sure the cat will still ignore you a lot, sometimes passing you in the hall as if it didn’t recognize you, never mind that you’ve spent the past 5 years feeding it and shifting through sand to shovel its shit with a tiny spoon. But hey, that’s how the game is played – sack up and quit being so clingy for God’s sake.   

 

Gonna dress you up in my love…

 

Now this category applies only to a select few men, but still, it needs to addressed: putting clothes on a dog (or being seen with a dressed dog) is the exact same thing as playing with a dolly. Period. I know what the guilty are saying, “Bro it’s my girlfriend. She doesn’t like to walk snookums at night so I’m just being a good dude by putting the little fella in his turtle neck and taking him for quick jaunt around the block.” False. You are a grown man, walking around with small dog wearing a vest. I don’t care if you’ve got a Brazilian model with a three foot tongue waiting for you at home, all I see is right now is a dude in sweatpants, tethered to a shaking rat of a dog wearing baby clothes. There is a breed of woman (usually the type who own decorative dogs draped in accessories) who are always dreaming up new and creative ways to emasculate men, but forcing them to walk fist sized animals in sweaters has got to be the worst. For the record I have never seen a man walking a cat dressed in a little outfit. Man’s best friend my ass. 

So that's a pretty good description of what this thing will look like. Random stories and writings of the unemployed. If this appeals to you please subscribe and/ or sign up to follow it so I can be spared the embarrassment of having to post email blasts on Myspace to let people know I updated my blog. I'm a grown man for Christ's sake. 

And if the above wasn't enough to earn your loyalty, I'll entice you with hints of an upcoming post. I won't give you the details, but it involves me getting a HUGE, dark purple, perfectly symmetrical hickey, dead center on my forehead from a big, rubber dildo. To make matters worse the incident occurred the day before I had to go to work as a temp at Catholic Charities of Boston. And it all went down at a wine tasting party, BTW...

Cock unicorn: Before

Cock Unicorn two minutes later: the aftermath

If curiosity over that story isn't enough to keep you coming back for more, then you've got way too much to do. Time to loosen the schedule up a little captain no fun, sheesh.