Archive for the 'Movies' Category

11
Mar
18

WHEN I SING WINNER PEOPLE’S CHOICE AWARD – BEST FEATURE FUKN FILM!

YEEEEEEEEHAH! How’s them apples? No one can hurt me when I sing…and when we win! Our very first festival! Gosh, it feels good. It’s just the beginning, but it’s like being a rookie American League pitcher up at bat for the first time, and hitting it out of the park. BOOM! (Yes, I emphasized American League, when the DH is not an option.)

WHEN I SING WINNER PEOPLE’S CHOICE BEST FEATURE FILM!

Here’s the trailer!

So far I’ve worked 2 years, every waking minute on this film. (I am not exaggerating.) And then there’s the rest of the team.  I surely would have struck out without them. But imagine! Winning People’s Choice in the Los Angeles market?  Holy Shit! What an honor!

Click Here for your personal backstage pass video tour to our World Premiere of WHEN I SING in Los Angeles.

I’ll be honest, the film festival circuit is brutal. Why?  Because you drop a hundred here, fifty there…just to submit!  Then you don’t get in to most of them, because thousands of people are doing the same thing you are.  Being an artist is a tough road these days. Everyone wants to make money off of you, while you spend more…and time.  Time? What is it worth?  All of us artists know how much time we spend creating and promoting our work. Why? We have to. Passion and belief drives us.

I believe in this film 100%. I promise that 99% of artists will relate, 99% of underdogs will be cheering, 99% of women will be laughing and crying, and 80% of people will thoroughly enjoy it.  The rest of you..well…you can’t please everyone.

So now what do I do?  It’s nice that I’ve already been approached for distribution. But this is my baby, just like my albums. Who can I trust with…MY LIFE’S STORY?

Maybe it will be Coming to a theatre near you!  Then Netflix! Or AmazonHBO! Or Showtime!  (I say fuck a lot…so no Disney.) Did you know you have to spend like millions in promotion for a theatre release. I swear this could be a cult blockbuster! (See, I do believe in this film…or I’m delusional, and I’ll end up selling them in the back of my fucking car.)

Stay tuned.  But for now, FILM FESTIVALS everywhere, show WHEN I SING. I guarantee a sold out crowd, and lots of smiles.  Let’s do this!

Next stop, Worldfest.  Houston…we don’t have a problem! What an honor to be chosen for the 3rd oldest film festival in America! And we’ve already been informed that we’ve won one of the top awards…one of their coveted REMI AWARDS!  YEEEEEEHAH!

WINNER PEOPLE'S CHOICE

I’d like to congratulate all of the fellow nominees.

The IncantationBuckout RoadIn Echo ParkThe Evil Rises.

Also an honorable mention to my two favorite nominated shorts that blew me away!

The Obituary and This is Ed

BEST OF LUCK TO ALL OF YOU DISTRIBUTING YOUR FILMS SO THE WORLD CAN SEE!

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10
Mar
18

KVOA, Roadrunners, and Marines, oh my!

I flipped on KVOA, local news at 5 a.m. on Thursday morning, restless from waiting for results to see if WHEN I SING  wins our first film festival for People’s Choice…when another contest arose. KVOA announced they were giving away 4 free tickets to a Roadrunners hockey game saluting the military, to the person who leaves the most “creative” reason why they should be the recipient, directly after showing a clip of the latest nasty snow storm in New England.  The contest took place on KVOA facebook page.

I was the first to comment the following:

“I just watched your footage this morning, of Massachusetts, where I’m from. I have to admit I was laughing out loud, as I sit here in the warmth of the old pueblo where I live now, and know that my brother is chipping ice off of his windshield, freezing his butt off. The least I can do for him is be close to ice – while watching The Roadrunners, and saluting the military at the same time. As we say it Mass – that would be WICKED AWESOME!”

Then I thought nothing of it, and finally fell asleep.

ROADRUNNER

Last night at 10pm, I got a call from my Dad.  “Linda! They said your name of the News and read your comment, and….you won!”

“What?”

We had a good laugh, and I shared the story with my brother, in fact, freezing his ass off in Massachusetts. (I refrained from using ass in my comment on KVOA. I was on my best behavior.)

For curiosity sake, I went to the comment section, to read my “competition”, and there was one comment that stuck out, from a Lisa Vavages.

“He enlisted into the United States Marine Corps, April 28 he turns 18, May 24 he graduates from Desert View High School, July 30 he leaves for boot camp…13 weeks away from home he’ll be transformed into a United States Marine. Who is he? He is my only son, with what few months we have remaining and all the hard work he’s put in,, he deserves to go see the Roadrunners!”

Awww.  I want her to go with her son, I thought. So I sent her a facebook message, and commented on the post as well, saying, please let me take you and your son to the game with us. And then I left her a private message…and then sent a friend request, to make sure she would get it.

She wrote back, and said her son and daughter would be delighted to join. I thought, “wahhhh, I thought she would go with her son.” So I asked her why she wasn’t going, and she said she was a single mom, and had another daughter, and couldn’t leave her alone at home.

Single moms are some of the biggest heroes on the planet, as far as I am concerned. So here’s my dilemma. I was feeling all warm and fuzzy, giving her two of the tickets, and now I wanted all three of them to go, but I still kinda wanted to go with my hubby, even though I am not really a huge hockey fan.  I’ve been to one Bruins game, and it was cool, but I prefer baseball and football. (I wonder if it’s cold in the rink? I hate the cold!) Maybe I should just give them all of the tickets.  But…ooh! What if I could get a 5th ticket somehow!?

I called KVOA to find out the section we were in, and then called The Roadrunners organization, and explained the story.  They were kind enough to GIVE me another ticket right next to the four I had won! How nice was that?

Lisa and her kids met up with us at the game, They are a lovely family,  and we had a blast. (And I was prepared with several layers of clothing.) Wishing her son Gage, a safe journey in bootcamp, and becoming a U.S. Marine.  Having him at The Roadrunners hockey game, saluting the military, surely was a good omen.  And we won the game in overtime!

MARINE

(And our photo was shown on the Jumbotron!)

 

23
Feb
18

Holy Shit! WHEN I SING World Premiere is SOLD OUT!

HOLY SHIT!  WHEN I SING WORLD PREMIERE…SOLD OUT!  at HRIFF! Hollywood, baby!

We just pulled up from Tucson on horses to Hollywood, to our Director’s house, Robin Russin.  I had the WHEN I SING backdrop thingy delivered there, known as a “step and repeat”.  That’s the thing on a red carpet, where everyone poses in front of – to say “I was there!”  (Of course ours is not gigantic, on our indie budget.)

Well, there is good news and bad news.  The good news is that WE ARE SOLD OUT!  Robin got a phone call from a friend, while we were there. “Man! I went to the site, and there are no more tickets to When I Sing!”  WHAT?! Robin and I just looked at each other, eyeballs practically popping out.  The bad news is not everyone who wanted to go, can see the movie yet, or pose like this…

 

(Consider these the “before” photos.  I’ll be dressing up for the premiere!)

Thank you Hollywood Reel Independent Film Festival for selecting my little life’s story to premiere in the city of angels. Hopefully I will find the perfect angel distributor, so the millions of people just dying to see WHEN I SING (Hey, I can dream!) will be able to see it soon enough.

 

SOLD OUT

Stay tuned for more stuff you probably don’t give a shit about.

Check out the movie trailer here!

18
Feb
18

Holy Shit! World Premiere of WHEN I SING. Part 2: Thank you Robin Russin

One week from today, my life’s story, WHEN I SING, made with my life’s savings, and a lot of help from my friends (sing that line like Ringo), will premiere at the Hollywood Reel Independent Film Festival. Hoo Ha. (And my jaw is clinched at 5 am as I write).

How self-absorbed is it, when one make’s a movie about….themselves?! I swear, it’s a great story, not because it happened to me, but just because it happened. And I hope that under the constraints of my meager budget, that we were able to pull off conveying the story.  It wasn’t easy.  But, to start, it wouldn’t have been possible without…me.  I’m kidding – Robin Uriel Russin, my cousin by marriage.  In fact, we call it “An Odd Cousins Film”.

Odd?  Well, besides the fact that he’s a road scholar, who graduated from Harvard, and I’m a University of Miami drop-out, we were at odds during the filming, because being my life’s story, and having lived every minute, I felt compelled to direct the director.  Oops. So, if there is an award for tolerating me, Robin gets it.  (Well, and everyone else.)  I did direct a few scenes when Robin couldn’t be around on certain locations, and it was fun…I had a good teacher…Robin.

Initially, because of the extremely low-budget, I figured I’d be doing most everything…because I don’t have to pay myself. And I wore so many hats that I’m surprised I didn’t break my neck. I mean, I made fucking sandwiches and dragged wardrobe and props and set up the scenes to save money, in between acting.  And I assumed I would be directing, because I had no choice…

BUT then Robin asked me “Who’s Directing?”

Linda: “Uhhh, I guess I am.”

Robin: “I’ll take a semester off of teaching at UCR and direct, if you want”.

Are you shitting me?!  Wow.  You’d do that for me? Well, he did it.  (Robin helped me edit my book, Who the F**K is Linda Chorney, which WHEN I SING is based on, thus, he was quite familiar with my story…and believed it was a good one to tell!) Not only did he make huge, personal sacrifices to direct the movie, but when we ran out of money, he received a grant from UCR, (which paid for my co-editor, Robert Murphy).  Of all of the projects he has done, Robin chose WHEN I SING to go for a grant.  Incredible. He saved me from breaking my neck, while I busted his balls.  It was a perfect match! And although we are, indeed, odd cousins, we are more like brother and sister, who fight, but love and respect each other, greatly.  (Thanks for marrying him, Sarah!)

When_I_Sing-Jan31-SET1-1024x640

(Robin and I having yet another discussion about a scene – while co-star, Maxwell Scott, playing the roll of “Scott”, hung in there. “Here they go again…”)

And WHEN I SING is our child.  (That sound’s really weird).  So, I don’t know if Robin is clinching his jaw as much as I am, mine,  but I do know he’s ready to hand out cigars next Sunday. February 25th!  If you happen to be in the Los Angeles area, come to the premiere! Meet Felix and Oscar on the red carpet, (guess which one I am?), and other stars of WHEN I SING, including Chris Mulkey and Marion Ramsey. See cast here!

When_I_Sing-Jan31-WaveLabs2

(Robin directing Evan Grae Davis, our DP, of live performance with Chris Mulkey and me.)

A tremendous thank you to University of California, Riverside. No one can hurt me, when I have money to pay the bills!  (For those of you unfamiliar with lyrics from title track, WHEN I SING, the chorus says “no one can hurt me when I sing.”)  Get it!?

Stay tuned for Part III!

 

14
Feb
18

HOLY SHIT! WHEN I SING WORLD PREMIERE!! Part ONE – I’m stepping up, Neil Portnow.

Stepping up?  Check! Making a movie about my fucked up story?  Check! Self-Absorbed squared?  Check!  Hardest thing I have ever accomplished in my life?  Check! Getting it done with A LOT of help from my friends?  Check!  Now I just need a check!

I know. I know.  No one gives a shit if I just spent my life’s savings to tell my life’s story…apparently, that’s nothing unique in the film world.  Will it pay off? Why did I do this?  It’s insane to go to the lengths I have in order to get the truth out about what happened to me as a result of my historical/hysterical Grammy nomination.  In short, it’s the artist’s ridiculous quest for validation.  Check!

WATCH THE TRAILER HERE!

WHEN I SINGFor those of you unfamiliar, I was the first truly independent artist to be nominated for Best Americana Album, in 2012, for my double album, Emotional Jukebox, which my stalker turned husband, forced me to submit for Grammy consideration.  Let’s just say that the industry didn’t welcome this 50 year old, life time road warrior female musician.  Would I not have gotten as much flack if I had a dick? Chick Check! 

The timing of the release of WHEN I SING couldn’t be better!  I have to thank Neil Portnow for his words.  “Women need to step up to win awards” .  I stepped up a virtual Mount Everest to try and reach the top of my career, and when I got nominated, I thought I was there. I was so naive that I thought The Recording Academy would actually invite me to sing on the show, since I was the first indie to achieve this.  But instead, they changed the rules to prevent the unknown underdogs, while capitalizing on my nomination publicly, dangling a carrot for more hopefuls to join as a member.  Neil Portnow’s quote about me in the Associated Press:  “It shows everybody has a shot,” Portnow said. “That really is the truth.”

Linda Chorney quote:  “Meh.”

I’ve organized a petition, working along side members, and we hope The Recording Academy can step up to a democracy again.  Then maybe more women (and Indies) will be nominated and win awards.

But now back to me! Please, if you are in the Los Angeles area, come to the World Premiere of WHEN I SING, on Sunday, February 25th, at The Hollywood Reel Independent Film Festival!

Get tickets here!!

Make sure you scroll down to WHEN I SING at 8:15 show!  We are finalists for PEOPLE’S CHOICE AWARD! Come early (7:15) and pose on the carpet with some of our cast, including Chris Mulkey, Marion Ramsey, Miles Anderson, Kiki Ebsen, Mari Nobre, Eli Panero…and the chick in the corner!

In PART TWO – I’ll boast about all of our incredible cast and crew!

**p.s. I hate the photo they used of me in AP article that went to 100 countries. The photographer was great…and had better shots.  (This issue is actually a scene in the movie!)

 

 

 

13
Feb
15

OVER FIFTY SHADES OF RED

I found the book on a plane. I read it. I thought the two leading characters were fucking idiots. Yet, I read on, hoping there would be some explanation for the popularity of this trash. There was not.

However, it has inspired me to write my version, where the woman is the billionaire, and the subservient role is played by an equally stupid ass clown. It won’t be difficult to improve upon the original. Enjoy my Valentines gift to the world…

OVER FIFTY SHADES OF RED

Chapter 1

PANCAKES

I was in my limo driving cross-country because I was bored. I spoke through the intercom to my driver, Harvey.

“I have to pee. Pull over at the next exit.”

There, was an ihop, in Hayes, Kansas. I entered. The inner goddess in me wanting chocolate chip pancakes so badly that I ordered some, before I went to pee. Buttermilk, no powdered sugar. Extra chips. Not too much butter, but enough for lubrication. I texted Harvey to bring in my platinum to go box. I hate styrofoam. And I hate waiting even more than I hate styrofoam. Hopefully the pancakes will be ready by the time I finish peeing, so I don’t have to wait. Billionaires hate waiting.

I have had to stop and pee at least sixty times since leaving New Jersey. I suspect that I have a urinary tract infection from shoving so many kitchen utensils up my twat.

As I strolled by many fat fucks barely fitting into the blue booths, I glimpsed into the kitchen area behind the metal shelves. Ooh. That metal makes me so hot. I felt my vagina twitch as it reminded me of the metal shelves in my playroom.

There, in the kitchen, I spotted the most beautiful, pure creature in a white puffy hat. My left eyebrow  uncontrollably raised. He was blond, blue-eyes, bluer than the blue of the naugahide upholstery of the ihop booths. I hate fake leather. But blue is my second favorite color. No, wait. I like green better than blue, so, it’s my third favorite color. Red is my favorite color. My limo is red. My lipstick is red. My nails are painted red. I like red because it reminds me of when I had my period. I no longer get it. I’m fifty-two.

As I was peeing, I couldn’t stop thinking about the blond in the white puffy hat. My pee was orange. A really beautiful shade of orange, from the pyridium I was taking for my burning urine. I was thinking on Friday, I might have Chang Quan paint my nails the same shade of orange for a change. As a billionaire, I can have my nails painted every day.

 As I wiped my aging lips, they spoke to me.

“I must have that boy in the white puffy hat! Bring him to me.”

I pulled up my crotchless pantyhose, that were opaque white, but now they had spots of orange on them, because I don’t like to sit when I pee in any public bathrooms.

“Double crap!” I said out loud, angrily, in the stall, because this was the eighteenth pair of opaque white pantyhose I had ruined by my orange pee on this trip. Luckily I have another sixteen pairs in my red limo. That should last me until Colorado, where I plan to ski. I have a mansion in Aspen. Its brown. But I plan on painting it red as soon as I can get approval from the town. I hope my urinary track infection is better by then. Sometimes I have to pee when I am heliskiing. One time I skied into the woods to pee. I pulled down my one of a kind Bognor ski suit I had made at Gorsuch, that was red and crotchless. Anyway, as I was peeing, an avalanche started. I was still peeing, but I had to go before I would be burried alive! The avalanche came too fast. (Like the last nineteen year old carnival worker I picked up waiting in line on the Jersey Shore, to go on the Round-up ride.) I was burried, head first, red ski boots up in the air. I could feel ice on my pubic hair, which I dye red. Fortunately, there was a trail of my orange pee, which led the rescue team right to me. A Saint Bernard licked my exposed crotch. It was so hot, it melted the icecles from my pussy.

I left the ladies room, after washing my hands with my own personal red soap I keep in my Red Gucci crocodile tote, that I picked up for forty-one thousand dollars. As I turned the corner, there he was.

He said, “Excuse me, Ma’am,” as he tried to get by. He was so hot. I could see his tongue, which reminded me of the Saint Bernard. I heard my lips below screaming to get him in the limo.

“What’s your hurry, handsome?” He blushed my favorite shade of red.

“Umm, I, I, have to pee.”

“YOU CAN WAIT!” I said with authority.

I put my arm out to block the entrance of the Men’s Room.

“Do you know how attractive you are?” I asked.

He put his head down, bashfully. I love bashful boys.

“Look at me, bashful boy,” I said softly.

He looked up with his sparkly blue eyes, completely lost in my green eyes. I tried red contact lenses, but they looked creepy. My eyes are actually brown, but I have a bunch of green contact lenses in the limo. I can’t wait to strap bashful down and plunk them into his eyes as he plunks into me.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said to bashful boy.

“But…but…” I interrupt by putting my index finger over his lips to quiet him. I hope it doesn’t smell fishy. I thought I washed my hands well enough.

I take him by the hand, dragging him out of the ihop. Harvey had the platinum to go box of pancakes. It was a whirlwind of excitement I could never have imagined would happen in Kansas. I love driving through Kansas, because it reminds me of The Wizard of Oz, and Dorothy’s ruby red slippers. Oooh. Those shoes made me so hot, that I purchased them at Sotherby’s auction for ten million dollars. But it was getting to the point where I couldn’t leave the playroom anymore, where I wore them. They were too small for my size 9 foot. My damn feet keep growing. So, I have temporarily loaned them to The Smithsonian, until I get my feet operated on, so they can fit me.

As I threw Bashful Boy into the trunk of the limo, I noticed a stench. The poor boy had peed in his pants, since I didn’t allow him to go to the bathroom. I laughed hysterically. How adorable!

After stopping one more time to pee at a rest stop on i70, we arrived at my ranch, which I built where they filmed the tornado scene in The Wizard of Oz. Besides the slippers, I am also a fan, because I like to wiz. Harvey opened the trunk, where bashful boy had been banging on the door for the last eighty miles. He looked pretty confused. It was so cute!

I removed the red duct tape from his perty mouth and ordered him to join me in the ranch. I opened up the platinum to go box of pancakes. They. Were. Cold.

I was so angry that I turned a deep shade of red. “Crap! The pancakes are cold!”

I went into the kitchen and threw my entire Le Crueset red set of cookery on the floor, stomping my feet. I was so mad also, because I had purchased the entire collection at the Outlet Store on i10 in Palm Springs, on a previous cross-country search for the perfect piece of ass, and then had found it for half the price in a Home Goods in Boise, Idaho. Even billionaires like a bargain every once in a while.

“Bashful Boy, its time to make some pancakes. Are you ready?”

“Uhhh, I..I, guess so. Do you really think I’m handsome?”

“Ooooh, you are so hot, you have no idea. Actually, do you have any ideas in that pretty blond head of yours? No matter. Its time to bite into hotcakes.”

I cracked an egg on his forehead and added it to the Trader Joe’s Buttermilk pancake mix I had Fedexed to Kansas from Shrewsbury, New Jersey. These hicks out here in Kansas only use Bisquick. I hate Bisquick. And the box is yellow. I hate yellow. I do like Aunt Jemima though, because the box is a bright red. The Trader Joe’s box is more of a Burgundy, but that counts as a shade of red; plus no preservatives.

I had Harvey take off Bashful Boy’s cloths and scrub him down, while I put all of the ingredients into the red overpriced Le Crueset bowl. Once he was clean, I dismissed Harvey, instructing him to leave the red duct tape. We were alone. Just me and what’s his face, and the pancake ingredients, and my set of red Le Crueset.

I took out a whisk. “Do you know what I am going to do with this whisk, bashful boy?”

He gulps, “No.”

Bend over, I said, as I put a red apron on his rock hard chiseled body. I gently stuck the thin whisk up his ass, after using a little of the whipped butter for lubrication, and placed the red bowl of Trader Joe’s buttermilk pancake mix on the floor. I started with small girth.

“Now whisk Away!….faster…..faster! And make sure that white puffy hat stays on. It’s so sexy.”

His ass was churning round and round like that Round-up ride in Jersey. It was hot.

He finished mixing to make the batter as smooth as the skin on his hairless chest. I took two chocolate chips and tried to place them on his nipples, but they kept falling down. Crap! I made him eat them off of the floor. I hate wasting.

As he was down there, I placed my left hand, gently under his balls and started tickling his taint, while plunking green contact lenses in his blue eyes with my right hand at the same time! So erotic. His erection put the kickstand on my red bike to shame.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, hotcakes!”

I grabbed the roll of red duct tape, and took my red spatula with the thick handle, and taped it to his throbbing hard cock. I was dripping like the photo of the syrup on the Aunt Jemima pancake box. Yummy.

“Now, you have to flip the pancakes using this spatula. If you lose your boner, you won’t be able to flip them, and I will get angry. You don’t want me to get angry, because if I do…I might have to take you into the playroom and punish you.”

“Uhh, if you keep talking like that, I might lose my erection, Ma’am.”

“My name is not Ma’am. It’s Matwatsonfire. Named after my Great Grandmother from Botswana. She was the first white woman to fuck an elephant. You will keep your erection. You are young enough. How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m 25, Ma’a…”

WHACK! She takes the whisk that is still in his ass, quickly removes it, and spanks his hotcake cheeks.

“It’s Matwatsonfire. Now don’t drop any pancakes, you gorgeous blond orangutan. You are just perfect. There is nothing more perfect than this dyslexic relationship. I, 52, you 25.”

“You are fifty-two?! You don’t look it. You’re hot. I want you.”

“In due time. In due time, bashful boy.”

“But my name is…”

“Shhh! Don’t spoil it.”

I take his dripping syrup dick dispenser and lick it to keep my human spatula efficiently stiff for flipping.

But, just as I was lifting up, he went to flip a pancake and it fell on the floor, as he blew his load. I laughed inside, but pretended I was angry, and ripped the duct tape from his penis, stuck the red spatula in his perfect butthole, and then lovingly dragged him by the red apron around his neck, towards the playroom.

I wonder if all billionaires are this romantic?

This portion of my blog is sponsored by Pancakes in Red Boxes and Orange pee.

aunt jemima

 joes

22
Aug
14

REVISITING MICHAEL MOORE’S “FARENHEIT 9/11” INSOMNIA

Last night I watched Michael Moore’s “Farenheit 9/11” for the second time. The only advantage of getting older is that I forget many details of films, so I can almost enjoy it like the first viewing. Well, I wouldn’t say I enjoyed this film. And I do remember not enjoying it the first time. It was very upsetting.

After a sleepless night, I decided to do a little research and fact checking as much as is available. According to the Chicago Tribune,, the facts are pretty accurate.

According to a report by David Kopel, whom I mistook for Ted Koppel, this morning…(another sign of aging), thinking it was valid, wasting my time, as he shows some alleged deceits in the film.

I proceeded to read many more Moore dissecting fact reviews. Even FOX! Sure, Michael took a few dramatic liberties, but the FACTS about the reasons we went to war in Iraq, being based on lies, cannot be disputed.

The fact that we were attacked after being warned, cannot be disputed.

The fact that Halliburton profiting greatly by war, and having a major connection to Dick Cheney, cannot be disputed.

The fact that there were no weapons of mass distraction, yet the Bush Administration stated they had 100% proof that Iraq had them, cannot be disputed.

The fact that many innocent people, children, women, men, were “the price of war,” cannot be disputed.

The footage of the carnage in the film cannot be disputed.

I had to cover my eyes, but too late. I broke down and cried during the film. Little children with their faces being stitched up, screaming. Dead children in the back of a truck. Dead soldiers scorched and displayed. Showing a beheading from a far.

WAR IS TOTALLY FUCKED UP.

I was angry. Angry at the Bush Administration. Yes, I do not trust what their intentions were. For that matter, I do not trust The Obama Administration for remaining at war. Last night I posted on Facebook “I’m watching “Farenheit 9/11. Haven’t seen it since it opened. I am crying. Bush Administration was pure evil and greed.” And of course that caused the Conservatives to chime in and call bullshit on the film.

The bottom no bullshit line is, we had no reason to attack Iraq. Yet we did. Ya know, I actually don’t like using the word, “we”. We, the people, didn’t decide to attack, the President and his cronies did. Why don’t we the people get a vote when it comes to going to war?

And to clarify, I love my country. I hate war. I support our soldiers coming home safely, and wish them no harm. But I also wish no harm to innocent bystanders in any part of the world.

I am disgusted with the latest horrifying beheading of an American journalist, James Foley, at the hand of ISIS. I cannot bring myself to watch the film. My heart goes out to his family.

My heart also goes out to all of those suffering in Iraq, and Africa, and wherever. And closer to home, the victims and families of 9/11.

Everly life and death is of equal value. (Accept for Bin Ladin, Hitler, Pol Pot, Idi Amin, and anyone who dropped THE BOMB on innocent people. hehem.)

What bothers me, is that I think many Americans generalize the deaths in other countries. “Price of War”…”Nuke ’em”.

And if some country came over here and bombed us, killing our relatives, we’d be pretty pissed. Oh yeah, that did happen, but it wasn’t a country, it was a few individual assholes. It wasn’t Iraq. It wasn’t Afghanistan. It wasn’t Saudi Arabia, although the majority of the hijackers were Saudis.

And now the newest assholes are ISIS. Ironically, allegedly trained by the U.S. Government! (Speaking of assholes), WHAT THE FUCK?

What do we do? This country loves war. But I don’t. And I know lots of other folks that don’t. Can’t we just take out the assholes?

And although a lot of people think Michael Moore is an asshole, I would like to invite him to be a member of my very own little, non-violent organization, IBIS. (Integrity, Balls, and Intelligence Society.) I think he is a brave motherfucker. I just read his book, “Here Comes Trouble”. Did you know that he had numerous death threats after he made his acceptance speech at the Oscars for “Bowling for Columbine?” He made the dreadful mistake of saying, “Shame on you Mr. Bush.”

After seeing Fahrenheit 9/11 again, having insomnia as a result of watching, and fact checking, as best I could, I can’t disagree with Michael Moore’s statement. And I hope our country figures out a way to take out these monsters in Iraq, without harming the innocent people of Iraq, and our troops.

But what is more impossible to ask? What the fuck is the real story?

ISIS1

 




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