Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Into The New, Leaving The Old Behind Me
I'm very wary of magic. Before you ask, yes, I absolutely believe it exists. You would too if you'd ever seen Barry Manilow's show at the Las Vegas Hilton. Getting grown people to pay money to see that shit is a trick in itself, but then how he gets a whole crowd to sing along, sobbing, to "Can't Smile Without You" with just a piano and his sorcerer's voice... it seems like such a happy song, but goddamn it, if it doesn't break us down every time.

There's some kind of voodoo witchcraft that makes me keep going back to that show. I've seen it 436 times. I don't even like Barry Manilow. And then somehow after each and every visit, I wake up in a hotel room next to one or more strange naked men whose names I don't know. It's some kind of weird clothes-destroying teleportation trick that also erases short-term memory and makes my wife uncomfortable. It confounds and disturbs me. My only recourse is to keep going back again and again until I can root out the cause and formulate some kind of talismanic counter-spell, although I will say that it terrifies me because I suspect the answer lies somewhere in the direction of Neil Diamond.

You can see, though, how my personal experience with magic has left me somewhat uncomfortable with it. Despite my persecution, I was at least able to tolerate the existence of real-world magic when I thought it was confined to washed-up Jew singers from the '70s.

Then yesterday I saw this:

You know I love my MS Paint, but I can assure you this is not a doctored picture. This is a bed that floats. And it was created a) not by a Jew b) not by a singer c)not from the '70s. The architect of this design is Dutch, so at least he's foreign, but how long before everyday magic reaches America?

We must do everything we can to keep magic outside our borders. Think of what might happen if a bed like this gets into this country. It only takes one crazy-ass celebrity to let his/her (OK, who are we kidding, "his") monkey sleep on it and the next morning it wakes up knowing how to fashion a space-station out of bones just by throwing them in the air.

Is this the world you want? Orbital monkey domination? I don't think that you do.

Our first move should obviously be the expulsion of this man:

Is it funny that he is a legendary gash hound--so much so that his voracious appetite for genital contact will one day kill him--and his name is "Magic Johnson"? Sure it is. Of course it is. Jokes like this are what American kids learn in junior high school instead of geography. But we can't be too careful. He may well be the vanguard. I think it might be a case of hiding in plain sight. I mean, he's got "Magic" right in his name. Plus, he made a star out of Kurt Rambis. That isn't natural.

I fear, however, that it may be too late to close our borders to it. We've already let Harry Potter in. Patriot and stickler that I am (or "patrickler" as I like to be called), we only have one book left to go and it's supposed to come out next year and I just have to know how it all ends.

Clearly I think I can say that the reason I'm so uncomfortable with magic is that I'm particularly susceptible to it. Between the Manilow and the Rowling, for all I know I already have a series of instructions already magically implanted in my head to overthrow the UN in their unholy names. My worry is that maybe not all their plans would be as helpful to America as that.

The defense of this country falls to you, my good people. And possibly Gene Simmons.

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 6.66



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