The biggest liars in the world today are the people who produce the weather tubes. They are worse than any government, worse even than The Hairball.

These people are continually confidently stating what the weather shall be, they are consistently numbingly Wrong, and yet they never admit to or are held accountable for their Wrongness. They simply blithely move on to the next numbnuts prediction. They do not print corrections or retractions, as do Decent tubes; if they did, these would consume the whole of their pages, so frequent and fault-ridden are their Wrong prognostications.

They impact people's Lives and Jobs, with their Wrongness, but they don't care.

Say you live in some place where it snows, but generally not very often, or not very much. You wake up one morning and there is snow falling, and already laying out and about. You check a weather tube, and it says that, with 90-100% certainty, the snow will fall all day. So you call into Work, and tell them you are taking a snow day, because you just have a little passenger vehicle, and no chains, and it would therefore be an unacceptable Danger for you to try to slip and slide down and up and down the hill in the bad snow. The boss says okay. Then about a half-hour later the snow stops. The sun comes out. The boss calls and says the snow is gone and will be gone for the rest of the day and so where are you? You say the weather tube stated there would fall snow all day. The boss says he is looking at the weather tube as you speak, and it says nothing about snow. It shows nothing but sunshine. The boss is basically implying you are a liar and a wastrel and a derelict.

I know people to whom have occurred this or some similar calamity. There has resulted anguish. Tears. Medicine.

But, I hear the tubes-savvy among you saying, why don't you just take a screenshot of the Lying? That way you will have Evidence, when later it is proved untrue.

That is a fine suggestion. Except for the fact that the weather-tubes people do not permit screenshots. They are Monitoring, always, everywhere, and if a person attempts to grab a screenshot of their tubes, they Know. And they then dispatch to that person's house the helicopters, out of which the armored ninjas slide, crashing through the windows, seizing the would-be screenshotter, bagging up the person, then flying the malefactor to the Ministry, where the miscreant is dispatched to the basement, to there be tormented by O'Brien, until the wrongo agrees that 2 degrees + 2 degrees = 5 degrees, at which time s/he is released, because s/he has come to love Big Weather.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEtSKO3qrxo]

I am thinking that is what happened to the neighbor boy. Things seemed to be going fine in his life: he had become a bee boy, transporting boxes of bees here and there, so that all might be fruitful, and multiply. Then he abruptly disappeared. The property-manager ladies say he called from Wyoming, where he was depositing some bees, to say his rent check would soon arrive. It did not. And there were no further communications from the bee boy. No money ever again arrived. So, in the fullness of time, he was evicted. Mysterious personages arrived in the night to clear out his possessions. But the bee boy himself, he never again appeared.

I am thinking he attempted to take screenshots of weather-tube summaries for various areas through which he would be traveling to deliver bees. The weather-tubes people detected this, and they grabbed him. The fact that I did not actually hear any weather-tubes helicopters, or window-crashing ninjas, that does not mean anything. Because neither did I hear the terrible fatal auto accident that occurred a couple blocks from here. Nor did I hear Officer Barney Fife arrive shortly thereafter, to shoot the survivor in the neck.

The survivor is paralyzed, from the bullet in his neck, and he always will be. The shooter, Barney Fife, he has already been cleared of criminal wrongdoing, by the local district attorney. Who, for decades, has arrogated to himself the role of passing final judgement on law-enforcement officers who shoot people. This man has never filed charges against such an officer. And he never will. Shooting people, to him: that is part of an officer's job. If a citizen doesn't want to be shot, it is the citizen's responsibility to stay out of the way of the bullets. If they don't: "tough titty," as the Secret Service do say.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdgqUxclgK0]

However, in this case, something unprecedented did occur. The DA pronounced the shooting "not justified." Never in human memory had this DA determined that an officer's bullets boring into someone's body were "not justified." At this news, many people passed out, so great was the shock. Some had to be hospitalized.

Ultimately a civil suit will be filed as a result of this shooting, which will result in a judgement that will bankrupt the town. The two burgs in the county that are larger than this small town, they already have civil suits in the pipeline, that will bankrupt them too. From officer shootings the DA indeed found justified.

The DA, he doesn't care. What he cares about is being on television. In recent years, something has gone sadly wrong in this man's brain. For he spends too much of his time in the courthouse lobby, these days, earnestly pressing on other attorneys advice as to how best to handle their media appearances. He has apparently come to believe this is the most essential component of the practice of law.

Maybe the DA doesn't like being on television so much with this one, though. Because there has emerged dash-cam footage from Barney's car, from when he shot the survivor in the neck, and it is now all and everywhere, and people from all over the globe, viewing it, are concluding that the DA, in finding no criminal wrongdoing, is, at best, a demented corrupt fuck-ass dingleberry from Hell.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PySxkWyDR60]

Barney's story is that he did not know, at first, that he had shot the survivor. This despite the fact the man was firing a .45. Which is a fucking hand-cannon. No one can fire a round from such a weapon and not know it unless they have immediately-beforehand passed into brain-death and are firing by dying reflex. This also despite the fact the video clearly shows Barney, after shooting the survivor, nervously flashlighting the ground, in search of his shell casing(s). Or maybe he was looking for something else. Maybe he had dropped a donut. Who knows. It is uncontroverted that 11 minutes passed before Barney mentioned that he "might" have shot the survivor. And this only after medical personnel had pulled the survivor from the vehicle, detected a bullet wound in his neck, and another officer then suggested they better go back to the bar from which the vehicle originated, and see if anybody had shot the survivor there.

The DA concluded the shooting was an "accident," and that Barney did not mention that he had shot the survivor, and for some time, because he was "in shock."

Poor baby.

Barney in a story in a local newspaper published three years ago confessed that he is on a personal jihad to cleanse the land of drunk drivers because he was named for a relative who had been killed by a drunken driver.

Two years ago Barney threatened to electrify an old crippled man with a taser because the suspected drunk-driving old crippled man hesitated at submitting to a blood draw. Shortly thereafter the United States Supreme Court ruled that a person in such circumstances is not required to submit to a blood draw, unless the officer first obtains a warrant.

It is not known if Barney Fife knows what a warrant is.

Barney is very large. His weight is estimated at roughly equivalent to that of a cord of seasoned hardwood, which is two tons. He is the sort of obese American otherwise unemployable, except in a police department. Many donuts, daily, die, so that Barney may live.

Viewers of the true-life documentary series The Andy Griffith Show know that it is departmental policy that Barney Fife is permitted to possess only one bullet, and that he is required to keep this bullet in his pocket, not in his gun. Separate from the DA's "investigation," shall occur one conducted by the local police department, which shall determine if Fife violated policy by having the bullet in his gun, and shooting it into the neck of the survivor.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3IMYB_cFNqc]

The DA began his career as an assistant DA, where he distinguished himself by frothing that accused sex offenders should be castrated, and brandishing a gun at a judge. The man was such a geek that none of us believed he would last long even as an assistant DA, much less ascend to DA, much less remain in that position for more than two decades.

The story of how he was appointed to be DA, upon the resignation of his predecessor, is a sad and sorrowful one, but unfortunately I am not free to relate it here, as I received it under the seal of the confessional.

He and his office are regularly humiliated in opinions issued by the courts of appeal, wherein the appellate judges determine that no, he is not permitted to renege on a plea deal because the case has received "too much" publicity, and no, he cannot seize and sell the automobiles of citizens simply because said vehicles were parked at a property whereupon occurred a cockfight.

Perhaps his finest hour was when he secured a kidnapping conviction for a person who had moved a dead body. The appellate court said, no, you cannot kidnap a corpse. A person has to actually be alive, in order to be kidnapped.

These cases reach the appellate courts only because the DA brings all the local judges to heel by papering them with motions disqualifying them from hearing any criminal case at all, until such time as they have shown an inclination to rule, at least the vast majority of the time, in the way he sees fit.

The local defense attorneys do not unite to respond in kind because they are anarchists who are constitutionally unable to agree on anything.

He continues to be re-elected as DA because the people are ignorant and lazy and stupid and afraid and do not or cannot vote, the press will not print what actually goes on in that office, the people who actually know what goes on in that office will not tell it to the press, and no local defense attorney will run against him, because each has one or more jangling skeletons in the closet, and/or s/he would never want to assume a job that requires putting people in prison.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jymywc4A1Cc]

Once a member of his own office planned to run against him; the DA promptly fired the man. Some sort of board ruled the man could not be fired, and he was returned to his position as assistant DA. This drove the DA crazy. The DA went further crazy when the man became a human, and began negotiating humane plea deals—even dismissing charges.

The other assistant DAs learned their lesson, though. None have sought since to challenge the DA. Instead, under the governorship of the serial sex offender Arnold Schwarzenegger, they applied for judgeships. And now they infest the local bench. When Jerry Brown again became governor, he appointed a human to the bench, but that man died shortly thereafter. This will not happen with the former DAs now sitting up there, all dumbshit and be-robed. Because they were appointed when they were basically 15 years of age, and thus will serve until the end of time.

The DA has sympathy for the reckless discharge of a firearm, such as that of Barney Fife's, because once the DA's daughter fired off a round in their house to try to stop the DA from arguing with one of his wives. No charges were filed. Because shit happens. Then a daughter went wild in a van and started running over people. Normally this is the sort of behavior the DA would determine merited the state prison. But this time he hired the best criminal-defense attorney in the county, and the daughter caught a misdemeanor . . . or maybe two. Memory fails. Because, you know, shit happens. And thus, when a huge stupid lumbering donut of a police officer, shoots a survivor in the neck, and paralyzes him: hey, what the hey: shit happens.

In other investigations, three Cro-Magnon Men from out of The Flintstones, who traveled via time machine to the present-day halls of Congress, have convened a "task force" to prove the Kenyan deliberately garbled intelligence in order to permit ISIL to run wild in Iraq and Syria, thereby serving the Kenyan's infamous and well-known Aim of erasing from the earth all the white people.

The Cro-Magnons claim proof of this Plot may be apprehended in correctly rearranging the letters to the lyrics of the satanic Kenyan summoning-song "Witch Doctor."

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9WvzMUA0FY]

I am not going to pay attention to any weather tubes any more. I am going to go back to what humans did for hundreds of thousands of years before there were any tubes, which was tuning into the weather by looking and smelling and hearing and tasting and feeling. There is also, I think, supposed to be a thing where your corns or bunions or something ache, if there is to be a change in the weather, but I do not have corns or bunions, or even know what they are. Also, American Indians were supposed to be able to divine the weather, at least a couple days ahead of time, but the white invaders seem to have killed off almost all those people. Locally, the people raising a stink about Barney Fife the neck-shooter and his blowjob-boy the DA listened to the weather tubes that said there was supposed to be a downpour Sunday afternoon, and so didn't much come out for a second day of railing on the streetside. But by Sunday noon, the scheduled time for railing day2, the downpour was all gone: I was basically alone out there: and the weather tubes just laughed and laughed. And went on their merry, lying way.

Probably most people are famliar with the phenomenon of Someone Else's Blues. This is where your life is going fine, but nonetheless you have a pout-lip. There seems no known reason, but there it is anyway. David Bromberg sings memorably about this below.

There is additionally the converse, where your life is pretty much a wreck, yet you feel fine. This is called Medicine.

The other night I experienced a related phenomenon: I had Someone Else's Dream. In the alternative universe of this dream, Clinton I was serving as president, as ISIL raged rampant, and his advisors were urging he introduce into the Middle East to Get them some 400,000 American troops, and I was telling him how to "message" this. "I" was not actually in this dream—in fact "I" was a crazed voice down in some corner screaming to get out—but it unspooled, the dream, as if it were "mine." I got out of the thing as quick as I could, and, once resuming something resembling waking consciousness, I set about determining that I was actually "myself": yes, the littlest cat was draped across my legs, and yes, the frogs were fucking. Whew. Still, I felt seedy, wrong, soiled: criminal. I felt like I should turn myself in to The Hague.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_8jBb4-B9Y]

Once upon a time Lillian Hellman and Mary McCarthy hated each other. No one cares about this now, because they are both long dead, and they are both rarely any longer read, but at the time it was a big deal.

Their feud eventually went public, and culminated in McCarthy, stating, upon the live television, about Hellman, that "every word she writes is a lie, including 'and' and 'the.'" Hellman, watching this live, laughed. Then the next day she filed suit for $2.5 million.

McCarthy's charge against Hellman was untrue. But it would be 100% correct if she were to pop up out of her coffin today and utter it about The Hairball.

Take the story that re-emerged this week that Ivana Trump in a 1990 Vanity Fair interview stated that The Hairball "reads a book of Hitler's collected speeches, My New Order, which he keeps in a cabinet by his bed."

When asked how he came to possess a book of Hitler's speeches, The Hairball asked in return: "who told you that?" He then said: "Actually, it was my friend Marty Davis from Paramount who gave me a copy of Mein Kampf, and he's a Jew."

Davis responded: "But it was My New Order, Hitler's speeches, not Mein Kampf." And, "I am his friend, but I'm not Jewish."

The Hairball then said: "If I had these speeches, and I am not saying that I do, I would never read them."

The Vanity Fair piece meanwhile reported that The Hairball's cousin, when entering The Hairball's office, "clicks his heels and says, 'Heil Hitler!'"

Speaking of Hitler, the term "fascism" has become so overused and misused that it is now functionally stripped of all meaning. This is a good piece on what fascism actually is, and why, 98% of the time, when the term is hurled, like mud, it is hurled wrongly. The Hairball, for instance is not a fascist. Which does not mean he is somehow Good. As a source states therein, "you can be a total xenophobic racist male chauvinist bastard, and still not be a fascist."

Well, hell, I suppose there should be Christmas music.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtdgYnJYJ8g]

Alright. One more. This too, also, in part, a drug number. Written by Chrissie Hynde, in 1983, for James Honeyman-Scott, her guitarist, lover, companero. Until cocaine stopped his heart. She wrote it because she missed him. She still does. As is clear in this 2014 version. She never liked her voice, in the first recording. She likes it better, in this one. And she'll keep trying. To bring forth the right voice. To bring him back. Someday. When it must be Christmas time.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hoVtkNw05-A]