MK Magazine Editorials

“DRINKING DECADENCE DESPAIR AND INDULGENCE IN THE LAND OF OZZ”

…………………………………………I woke up to the humidity that is August in Chicago. I knew it was going to be the start of a long day. I walked across the street to the MK ULTRA Office and began to pack my essentials for an overnight visit to what some metalheads wait 364 days of the year for. It was to be Ozzfest 2002. I've attended Ozzfest every year since it's early stages in 1996 when Filter and Prong played w/ Ozzy on the Fourth of July in Indiana –and it was scary then. It began getting scarier every year since. I only missed one year, 2001. 2001 was a bad year for AZ and it was a bad year for me in terms of bands that would be playing that year. Manson was the only act that appealed to me. It wasn't worth braving the mullets to see a 45-minute set of Manson, so I opted to skip. Even now I have no regrets. That year, the guys from Rock Out Censorship, Kenny and Mike stayed at the old MK ULTRA office for a little over a week. Some days they'd drive as far as 8 hours to attend an event and then trek back to my place. From what I've been told, they like the water. But I think they enjoyed the big-budget porn. But that's another story, and now I'm writing about Ozzfest 2002.

That morning my attorney and partner in time made it known to me that she was feeling too ill to go to the festivities that we agreed to attend the night before Ozzfest. SuZn, one of our photographers secured a room at the ski lodge months before. She was taking Scott and got a room for just under $500 for two nights. Our share for Saturday night only was $120. I figured at that price this was the sweet of suites. That's as much as some of the resorts I've stayed in with Susan, not to be confused with SuZn. Nevertheless, my attorney and I took the 22 bus downtown to rent a car. We rented a new Dodge and took it to the grocery store. We stocked up on necessities and I got supplies for tailgating and the pre-Ozzfest party.

"...two bags of charcoal, seventy-five cans of domestic and imported beer, five jars of high-powered salsa, a half-full bottle of aspirin and a whole galaxy of multi-flavored veggie burgers, chicken legs, vegan hot sausage, and Frontera Arbol Hot Sauce, Frontera Red Chipotle Salsa and lime flavored tortilla chips...also a quart of tequila, a quart of Capt. Morgan rum, a bottle of Jim Beam, a pint of vodka, and a dozen mixers...but the only thing that worried me was the Arbol Hot Sauce. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible, or as unforgiving than a man in the depths of an Arbol Hot Sauce binge.”

The most important item other than food and liquids was music. I went through my library and chose the type of music only a couple of post-punk hellraisers could enjoy sans the company of my attorney, who just happens to be of the female persuasion.

The person I chose to take her place was my mailman, who also happens to perform as a guitarist in a Mexican punk rock combo called Mas Loco Amigos. A Latino gentleman who in person has always had me convinced that he was partially born and bred a Samoan. He was a former Mexican wrestler in his native land; a masked champion who was known in his homeland as “The Latin Of Doom,” but he was retired by Santanico in the brutal Mexican Chair Fight in 1997. Rather, he was forced into retirement and works for the postal service under the American name Greg Tovar. The CD’s I chose to bring in the silver Dodge (we christened the car Silver Bullet due to a lot of its power being charged by Coors Light.) was: TYPE O NEGATIVE’S “Slow Deep And Hard” and “Bloody Kisses,” PRONG “Cleansing,” DANZIG, JOEY RAMONE’s “Don’t Worry About Me,” THE RAMONES “Ramonesmania” MINISTRY’S “Greatest Fits” and “Filth Pig” THE CRAMPS single “Let’s Get Fucked Up,” WHITE ZOMBIE “Super Sexy Swinging Singles,” ROB ZOMBIES “The Sinister Urge” and “American Made Music To Strip By,” REVOLTING COCKS “Linger Fickin Good,” MISFITS “Famous Monsters,” MY RUIN, TITO AND TARANTULA, IGGY POP “Beat Em U,p” FILTER “The AMALGAMUT,” The CULT “Pure Cult” and CRANK IT UP “a collection of covers about cars and driving”. The latter was only for the latest TYPE O song, a cover of DEEP PURPLE’s “Highway Star.”

Armed with bottled water we flushed our systems to prepare for the abuse we were about to endure and brought energy drinks to boost our stamina, the A/C was blasting and the music was loud. For the first hour of the drive we didn't speak, we just banged our heads to the heavy tunes. The trip began with a comp of driving tunes and then PRONG. We were somewhere around Six Flags on the edge of the stateline when the tunes began to take hold. It was only one song into the CD, the opening track of "Slow Deep and Hard,” in fact my favorite song of all time: a song about betrayal and psychological retribution, “Unsuccessfully Coping With The Natural Beauty Of Infidelity.” At the end of the tune, Tovar looked over and inquired in his broken English and thick Latino accent, “Was that all one song amigo?” Yes, I replied, a near13 minute opus. He was buying this one Monday, I knew it. Mission accomplished: another one sold. Someday TON would pay me a huge fee for the CD’s I’ve pimped for them since our meeting in 1994.

Driving along the desolate rural highway where the locals who lived far and few between lined up their lawn chairs and beer coolers roadside to wave and laugh at all the tattooed longhairs that journeyed to Alpine Valley for concerts. To them it was as much of an attraction to scoff at us, much as we do to them. It was an equal trade-off of amusement that none of us seemed to mind.

We arrived at the entrance of the lodge and security tried to veer us to the concert entrance. “No fucking way!” Tovar screamed out in the clearest English I’ve ever witnessed him speak. Yes, I agreed, no damn way on this earth would we enter a lot full of Christian rockers who were all on hand to see Creed, a band we all loathe, who just happened to be at the venue that night. We gave them our press credentials, MK ULTRA would be our way into the lodge, a place we thought and hoped would be luxury in midst of the Land of Oz. But the true horror we were about to behold. “Ye Fucking gods!” The Ozzheads had already transformed the hotel and it’s lot into bad beer and tattoo mullet heaven. Oh, we were going to get killed I thought for sure. I don’t know if it was my pre burn tan or Greg’s Central American skin tone but we had heard the word “Nigger!” being screamed throughout the halls as we wheeled our massive cooler and food items up to room 202 where our saviors, SuZn and Scott were starving and already toasted from alcohol and drug abuse. The room smelled of weed and we kept hearing that dreaded “N-word” echoing thru the halls. Maybe it was paranoia, mullet fear or mullet envy, they were everywhere. But we were safe inside. Scott asked if we had the grill. They were both starved and ravaged fiends with the motherfucking munchies.

“Suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the resort halls were full of what looked like 80’s mullets, all swooping and screeching and swarming around the door ...

Greg opened the door and shadows fluttered across his face. The reflection of mullets swirled within his eyes. I pushed in close to one eyeball …SCREECHING SWIRLING MULLET-LIKE SHAPES!

“AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” He screamed. I knew he was in dire need of his first beer. I cracked him open a cold one. Scott’s voice was screaming: “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?” I asked him, “What are you yelling about?”

He replied, “Nevermind, it's your turn to drink.” He mixed me a very strong drink but there was already too much blood in my alcohol system. “No point mentioning these mullets.” I thought. “The poor bastard will see them soon enough.” We decided it would be best to leave the room door open to stay alert of the beasts. Besides, nobody brought a portable stereo and we could listen to all of the rooms playing different Ozzy records in unison. It would be a soundtrack to the savage racist members who took over this lodge, and if it was a resort it was certainly a reflection of its inhabitants. Certainly not worth the price paid. The wallpaper was peeling, there was NO ICE in the ice machines and the cost was easy to explain. It was a way to cover the damages and repair needed the next day after the majority of the celebrants tore the Inn to bits. It was their insurance. The lounge was the saddest part of the entire estate.

8/14-8/15/2002

So here we were at the Alpine Valley Resort. SuZn fired up the camera and we approached the outer perimeter of the lodge, viewing the balconies of many a shirtless metalhead. These were die-hard Ozzy fans. A lot of them drove ½ day to stay at this broken-down lodge. They had a lot more booze running through them by 7PM than I could hope for by the time I would retire around 4AM. But that’s another story. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all of my years of documenting the rituals of this breed, it is that once the crank is running through their systems and they’ve pumped their bellies full of Budweiser and Miller High Life they love nothing more than the roving eye of anyone with a video camera. Granted they’d likely “kick our asses” if they could remember spilling their guts to us, but that has never been the case. We wasted no time in starting our docudrama, which wasn’t slated for filming till the lot opened the next morning. Tovar had gotten quiet. I think the former champion was afraid, but after we poured several beer bongs of Amstel into the man, he got his groove on. Between visits into the trenches that the other guests used as their rooms, we’d occasionally step into the lounge. It was full of it’s own lizards. Hell no, we didn’t need the parking lot; we had all we needed right here in the fucking hotel drinking facility. All we had to do was get them out of the lounge and into their own environment. And that didn’t take much. Just as we came prepared so did the metal fans. Why did they even bother with the overpriced drinks in the lounge? Every room was stocked. Bud boxes were stacked against the wall each one on top of another as if to create some sort of noise reduction. Things began to get a little vague and blurry as the midnight hour approached. For some reason against my wishes SuZn felt the need to keep taping my Latin counterpart and I. Though I haven’t seen the dammed testament as of this writing, I imagine there are over a dozen instances where you see and hear me say something like, “STOP FUCKING RECORDING ME!” In fact, truth be told she was asked not to record us but the shirtless wonders and their female prey in their bizarre mating rituals and bellows of incoherent banter. At some point latter in the wee early hours of the AM, a lost and sobbing girl who appeared to have not eaten in recent memory was running down the hallways tossing beer into peoples arms. She was coming in the right direction and before long had re-stocked room 202 with loads of free alcohol. She was indeed the bee’s knees for a hotel full of booze-soaked party-hardy metalheads. I even walked to her room where a young child aged 13 was asleep on the bed oblivious to the decadence and destruction going on around his adolescent existence, and good for him and his well being. So I aided her in pilfering the last of the booze from her room and transferred it to 202, where it rightfully belonged. Seems she was upset with her date that had abandoned her for another girl from another town, and was in another room. This was her way of paying him back and my hosts were more than happy to oblige. In fact, so were the others in the rooms around us. Such was the revenge that in my mind, I’m sure some hung-over fellow was wandering the puking lot the next day trying to retrieve his bounty, knowing that for his sins he would be paying $6.50 a cup for warm non-light draught beer. After we restocked our massive cooler with the catch of the day and had a few shots and toasts we retired. The next thing I know is I missed the wake up call, and at 745AM was back up and in the shower. No sooner was I done than Greg got rinsed off and we were pulling our newly refilled cooler and grub out to the Silver Bullet. On the way we witnessed the janitors with brooms and dustpans sweeping up the yard of shattered windows and broken bottles. Sad as it is that these people are who they are, they can’t handle a good time without doing this type of thing. Thus, resulting in inflated room rates for hardworking journalists such as us. A song by NASHVILE PUSSY comes to mind, and that song is; “You Give Drugs A Bad Name.”

8:15AM We enter the lot and pull into VIP parking. There’d be no long lines or no long walk for us across the lot. We were in the front row and within minutes had the grill lit and were well on our way to beer for breakfast, beer for lunch and beer for dinner. We used the food as a sidecar or chaser. It helped soak up the mass of liquids swimming around in our stomachs. The nice thing was we didn’t even have to re-start the buzz, we still felt the effects of the indulgence of the prior festivities. Hell, there wasn’t even time for a hangover. As soon as Tovar figured out how to use the camera we were taping the bad news was about to hit us: low battery. SuZn in her “ultimate wisdom” and all of her random taping of us just roaming the lot and sitting around the room had doomed our mission. We had very little to go on and now I’d have to contact the Copyright people in DC and change the title of our film in the works. My attorney and Scott the ticket scalper showed up at noon. Then Scott and SuZn showed up. I looked at Greg and he was confused. Scott met Scott and Greg met Scott and Scott and SuZn and Susan. My Mexican friend thought for sure at this point I put something in his drink –so he had nothing to do but drink more. He had that look like if I was going to fuck with his mind he might as well get a head start on me. In the meantime we made friends with a few of the security guards and they kept us out of trouble and the trouble away from us. Besides, nobody could cross the line from paying patrons to VIP access. Everyone partook in my spicy chicken recipe with the exception of Susan who refuses to eat anything that is on a bone. Then it was off to Ozzfest where it was all downhill until Zombie came onstage at 645. But for the first time in history I didn’t leave after the little Ozzy movie. I figured with all the poor old guy had been through recently with his wife fighting cancer the least I could do was stay in my seat in the center of row 10 and give him some respect. But to this date it is the first time I’ve ever seen Ozzy for more than 5 minutes.

This is the end. I hope you get the picture because it may not have come out on film.

Part Time Patriots And True Independence

I've been putting off writing this editorial because I'm not sure how to express the way I feel without rubbing the readers the wrong way. Normally I don't care about whom finds my rants abrasive, but this time I'm dealing with a much more sensitive subject. And for me to react that way, well, it must be something that is buried deep under my skin. It’s a response to the events of 9/11. I'm sure it will soon be a government holiday and not one that Hallmark can capitalize on. However it seems that a lot of Americans are capitalizing on the benefits of the American Dream, our freedoms, and pursuit of happiness. For example the sudden increase in the sale of American Flags.

I was in New York City for the first time in my life on Labor Day Weekend. I had a great time. Stayed in the trendy Soho Grand, ate at some of the finest restaurants in Soho and the Village, and drank at the rowdiest biker bars in Manhattan. I found the people very friendly and fun, unlike the attitude of the uptight Midwesterners who instead of seizing the day, wait for opportunity to seize them.

A week after I got back to Chicago, ‘shit hit the fan’ I couldn't believe what I was seeing as the development unraveled right before my eyes and the eyes of the world of television. The city that seduced me just one week before was literally falling to pieces.

All this time my intentions were to write about keeping my memories of New York pleasant. Remembering what I indulged in rather than the rubble of what is now known as "ground zero". But something else was happening that sickened me. At first it seemed like a great and overdue idea, expressing patriotism. Everywhere I looked was the American Flag, Old Glory, the Red White and Blue symbol of our freedom, pride, and independence. Suddenly what began to trouble me had all dawned upon me.

Just prior to my trip to NYC I had moved from Humboldt Park to Lincoln Park. For those unfamiliar with Humboldt Park it is the Puerto Rican neighborhood of Chicago. When you enter and exit Humboldt Park on West Division Street the asphalt is sprawled over by huge steel Puerto Rican flags. The residents are 24-7 boasting PR pride by displaying flags on their cars, in their windows and on their persons. The people are very proud of their heritage and independence. Yet just over the past 2 decades I have witnessed as we have taken the Pledge of Allegiance out of our schools, and even gone as far as to make it lawful to burn the American Flag. The Freedom of Speech is constantly being challenged in our legal system, and we feed the world as we let our own people starve and suffer. Yet after 9/11 it almost seems that everyone is suddenly hit with a wave of feeling patriotic. And finally buying American Flags and singing the Star Spangled Banner. It wasn't that long ago that our country was going as far as to remove the National Anthem from public events. What’s wrong America???? Prior to the events of 9/11 I barely recall seeing my fellow Americans boasting the pride they now so proudly seem to display.

I see people jumping on the bandwagon as usual. Now much like the Gap ads that say "Everyone in leather", and abracadabra a bunch of main streamers go about trying to look cool in a fashion not too long ago only sported by bikers, rockers, and gays. (I recently attended an event and there were old women trying to recapture the style that escaped them by dressing in sagging leather pants. There is something very wrong with that picture.) It has recently become trendy to be proud to be an American. I see red white and blue sweaters and T-shirts where before it was fucking fleece and any other cookie cutter fashion of the moment that some magazine told you that it’s "the in thing". These people should have always felt the pride to be living in America, to sport Stars and Stripes. FOREVER. But over the last 2 decades you made the flag nothing more than a piece of history symbolizing, nothing. But now, be a patriot, it’s "the in thing to do".

Two weeks ago I flew to Las Vegas for the first time. They thanked us for being brave for flying, for being tourists and called us heroes. The real heroes were the firemen who went into the Trade Towers to save lives and attempt to preserve the structure. In Las Vegas tourism has suffered. Hundreds if not thousands of people are unemployed due to the domino effect of 9/11. It’s in the papers and on the news. Yet they want to call my girlfriend and me heroes. I don't think so.

Independence. What does it mean to you? Let’s examine the word. Independent. Being an individual. But those who dare to march to the beat of a different drummer are continuously and repeatedly singled out and outcast. I declare my independence everyday by letting my freak flag fly, but not a day passes that some mainstream trendroid judges my book by its cover. Certain folks say that my move uptown is an improvement. Don't get me wrong, I like living in Lincoln Park, but it doesn't make me a better person than I was when I lived in Humboldt. I'm the same guy. I'm an American, and in many ways a freedom fighter. I have been for 2 decades now, fighting for the freedom of expression. I don't have to wear red white and blue to be a patriot, neither does Jello Biafra, or Angsto The Clown, and neither do you. It’s in your heart and mind. If you do it to show your support keep it up, I respect that. Chances are you've been a patriot all along. But if you're just another sheep, following the herd, well, you're no different than those who stand by and watch innocent
people get victimized while doing nothing about it. Shame on you for not being a good American all along. So as far as I'm concerned for those people it is too late. (I wholeheartedly doubt that anybody who is looking at MK ULTRA Online fits those criteria)

I just want to say one thing in closing. I believe that if the Republicans didn't steal the election we might not be in this current situation. Now he’s used it as a way to, legally, look at our e-mail, our mail, tap our phones, and literally invade our privacy. (Not like they haven't been doing it all along.) Maybe you say, I don't have anything to hide. Fine, feel that way, but watch what will happen to a free society when they want to control what we read, see, think and hear. Hell, there is already a monopoly on the media.

A truly free society would neither fear nor suppress the freedom of expression. Nor would they attempt to control it. Think for yourself. Don't let your government do that for you.

AZ
An independent and proud American

What The Fuck Are You Looking At Asshole?

Commentary On Being a Longhair in 21st Century America by Alex Zander

As a society we've made a lot of progress over the past century in achieving equal rights for all members of our society. It's not perfect yet, but women, ethnic minorities, homosexuals, members of various religions and most other groups that once had no end of trouble "fitting in" are now allowed to live and work peacefully almost everywhere. Every day we get a little closer to our ideal of true equality for everyone.

But there is still one form of discrimination that has yet to be addressed. In fact, in many circles it is consciously condoned and actively encouraged. Many people who would be appalled at the idea of shouting insults at others regarding race, physical handicaps, perceived sexual orientation or any other difference from the "norm" have no inhibitions whatsoever when it comes to making their feelings known about what society deems as, "...FREAKS!"

Whether it's tattooing or piercing the body, wearing unusual hairstyles, or any other form of physical modification or adornment that tends to raise eyebrows (at best) or incite violent language and attacks against the individual (at worst), "freaks" have lived with this discrimination long enough.

- We are denied jobs for which we are more than qualified.

- We have been subject to harassment in schools. Students have been branded a "distraction" and expelled because they refused to alter their appearance to match that of the rest of the student body. Teens endure unending daily torment from their classmates, while the adults ignore the abuse -- or even participate.

- We are refused service in some establishments, and are unjustly targeted by security officers in others solely on the basis of our appearance -- we look so weird, we must be troublemakers, right?

- We are subjected to general harassment from the public. We can't go anywhere without being confronted by complete strangers, demanding (politely or not) that we provide some justification for ourselves that they can understand. Our neighbors peer suspiciously from their windows at us, and lock their doors when we pass.

- On television and in the movies, we are consistently portrayed as villains, mentally disturbed, or "joke" characters. Is it wrong to subject any other group of people -- other than practicing criminals -- to this treatment? Yes. Is it any less wrong to treat the "Freaks" in this manner? No. Most people would say this is a different kind of discrimination -- since we choose to drastically alter our appearance, knowing the consequences, we should just accept the harassment and live with the stigma of being different. This is untrue, unfair, and a violation of our country's Constitution.

I happen to be a white heterosexual male. But this does not mean that I am not discriminated against the way that minorities and homosexuals are. I do not use what is considered my gender and race to my advantage and do not discriminate against anyone. I have been a victim of what is spelled out as a Potential Target for Discrimination. I have been physically violated, attacked and put in the hospital by people who do not agree with my appearance. Yet there is no classification for an individual who chooses to dress the way I do and wear my hair in a style that longer than the status quo. I have been told by Police it is what happens to people who come around to their parts of the woods looking like I do. I was told by my father, a law officer, politician and former Green Beret that people have no control over what race they are born, but one does have control as to what they look like. I feel this is an unfair as well as ignorant statement.

I do not wear my heart on my sleeve nor do I feel that I am a martyr of sorts. However, I do try my best to do my part as an activist to make society aware of such injustices.

Freedom of Expression is in fact supposedly protected by the Freedom of Speech, which is in turn supposedly protected by the First Amendment.

There is a lot in the news these days about "racial profiling", a practice that is in every sense a violation of our personal freedoms. An example of "racial profiling" is when the police will pull over a "minority" because there is something "suspicious" about a person of another race happening to be inside a predominately "white" neighborhood. The officer will then proceed to search the person, his/her vehicle and run a police check to see if there happens to be any outstanding warrants on the individual as well as their passengers.

Hands down, this is a crime and a direct violation of our personal freedoms. Yet, there is no fuss over what can safely be coined as "image profiling". The "white mainstream" and the authorities, or powers that be are no more kind to those of us who do not subscribe to their idea of what descent white folk think it's acceptable to look like.

Following are two examples:
It's a hot and sunny Sunday afternoon and my friend and I are driving an older model Chevy. My girlfriend is in the backseat. We are each wearing our trademark black attire. We all have long hair because it is our choice to wear our hair longer than the US Army standard. This should not be strange being neither of us are in the service. We are driving into downtown Columbus Ohio, which is where we all lived at that time. There is no cigarette smoking and nobody is drinking even a soda. I make a left turn and the city police signal me to pull over. Like any law-abiding citizen I pull off to the side. He instructs me over the speaker to stay in the car and place my hands on the wheel. He then walks to the cars and instructs me to show my drivers license and registration. I kindly oblige. I ask him if I didn't anything wrong and he instructs me not to talk. He proceeds to run my plates and my license and returns to inquire where I am going. I reply "Home". He asks where home is and I tell him the address and he acknowledges it matches the info on my ID. He then feels the need to ask me where I'm coming from. I answer and for some reason he asks why I was where I was. I answer in fact that I had organized a flood relief benefit concert for a town that was struck by disaster. I asked him again if I did anything wrong and he replied in the negative and told me I could move along. Without any explanation of why we were pulled over he just wasted his time as well as my own. Needless to say I was more than just a little troubled by this incident. So I phoned my father who just so happened to be a Sheriff in another part of the state. I explained the situation, and he informed me that two guys with longer hair riding in a car, is considered by the Police, "suspicious behavior". All I could ponder to myself was, "What year is it? It's not the 60's, longhair is everywhere".

Example two: Two of my friends and I were making a long drive home across 3 states after picking up a friend who was coming for an extended stay. It was about 10 and a very dark summer night. As we crossed the border into Ohio the car broke down. Oddly we were stranded in the exact county where my father was the Sheriff. As we looked under the hood in an attempt to diagnose the problem a patrol car passed by. And again, and yet again there was a third pass in less than and hours time. I finally opted to phone home for help. My father, the Sheriff sent the patrol car that had been passing us while we were stranded roadside. The officer was not only an employee of the county and my father, but a lifelong friend of the family. I literally knew this guy from the time I was 5 yrs old. Obviously he hadn't recognized me. When we inquired why he didn't stop and attempt to assist us, his answer was simply, " I only saw 3 guys w/ long hair, I wasn't helping."

Why isn't there a special interest or a special interest group that defend the rights of a single, white, heterosexual male who chooses to wear his hair longer than most. There are anti-discrimination laws that protect every other "minority group" but those of us who exercise a freedom of expression called freedom of choice. And I feel it's about time there is. I do not wear my heart on my sleeve nor do I feel that I am a martyr of sorts. However, I do try my best to do my part as an activist to make society aware of such injustices.

I am proud to write about why I am a member of the Green Party. This is my political affiliation and I joined them because of their beliefs that reflect many of my own. Their platforms include, equal rights for all persons no matter their sexuality, race, religion or birthplace and justice not vengeance.

The organization endorses Nonviolence and effective alternatives to our current patterns of violence at all levels from the family and the street to nations and the world. They encourage ways to constructively use nonviolent methods to oppose practices and policies with which we disagree and in the process reduce the atmosphere of selfishness that is itself a source of violence. . We encourage people to care about persons outside their own group. We promote the building of respectful, positive and responsible relationships across the lines of gender and other divisions.

The Green Party seems to be the only hope of correcting such hateful and bigoted attitudes toward personal freedoms. And whether or not anything is ever done to correct these heinous crimes against society, I shall forever continue to be a pain in the ass to those who are threatened by my freedom by proudly letting my freak flag fly.