It's been a while since I posted what I have in stock of my own books in case you want to buy directly from me. I'll even do the 3 for $25 deal that we usually do at conventions and book festivals. Otherwise they're $10 each. (Or, if you're just buying DoF, $7.) If you live close enough to me that I can hand deliver it, cool. If not, shipping charges will apply. If you see something you like, let me know.
I've forgotten how to obsess over something. When I was younger I went all in on a lot of stuff. If I found myself attracted to something, I had to find out everything there was to know about it. Like when I discovered books by Joe R. Lansdale. Or when I found the music of Nick Cave. Or when I saw my first film by David Lynch. I don't do that anymore. I don't know why that is. Have I reached a point where I just don't care enough to obsess over something?
The Secret History of Twin Peaks brought it all back to me. I figured it was going to be just another ho-hum media tie-in for the new season in 2017. Just something to reintroduce you to beloved characters and maybe let you know what some of them have been up to in the last 25 years. But no, this book is vastly different from what I expected.
From page one, I knew I was hooked. It opened up a whole new way of looking at the series. It goes all the way back to when Lewis and Clark first discovered Twin Peaks, and it gets into some serious esoteric American history. Some of it was just so crazy that I had to look it up. There was no way that there was documentation of this in real life.
Surprise! Nearly everything in this book has been documented, regardless of truth or falsity, in real life. Real life conspiracies that I've never even heard of, and I go deep with conspiracies. Author Mark Frost has merely bent them to suit his purposes.
My favorite of the bunch is Jack Parsons, though. I've never even heard of the guy before, and it turns out that he was one of the most important innovators of the 20th century. It also turns out that he was a real life version of a Lovecraft character. He genuinely thought he could summon entities if he put his mind to it. Take the occult side away from him, and he's Howard Stark. He even looked like the Dominic Cooper portrayal of the character.
Another thing that surprised me was how incredibly important minor characters on the show are to the secret history, in particular the aged mayor and his brother, Doug Milford. Without Milford this book would fall apart. We also get to learn a lot more about Big Ed and his love life and his military service, and we get a peek at Dr. Jacoby's studies before he came back to Twin Peaks. I love the cover blurbs he gets from Jerry Garcia and Timothy Leary. And the entry on Josie is pretty crazy. We all knew she was a swindler, but it goes deeper than we ever suspected. I was surprised to find that Hawk doesn't like his nickname and considers it to be racist. It turns out his first name is Tommy, so . . .
I am in love with the structure of this book. It is a genuine mystery, and we're trying to figure the whole thing out. The dossier is composed by two people, and one of them is the Archivist. We all know it must be a character from the TV show, but we have to figure out who. All the evidence is there, you just have to put the pieces together. He eventually reveals himself, and I'm super excited that I was correct in my guess.
The best part is that we're reading the dossier with the agent assigned to investigate it. The mysterious TP is an interesting filter to read through. For the most part he (or is it she?) is all business, but there are moments when TP gets a little personal. TP is a skeptic, but (s)he gets unsettled with a lot of the information in the dossier. I tried figuring out who TP is, but I was disappointed when TP's identity was revealed on the very last page. It's a character we haven't met before. Maybe we'll get to see him/her in season 3.
I have to wonder how much of this was in Frost's mind from the start. Did he and Lynch plan for this from the very beginning? If so, they play a very good long game. I hope some of this makes its way onto season 3.
What I didn't put into the review:
I didn't mention this in my GR review because I don't post spoilers there. Consider this your warning that beyond this point there will be a ton of spoilers.
I've always admired Maj. Briggs. He's strictly a military man, but there is a sensitive side to him that makes this character truly blossom. My first guess as to the Archivist was Dale Cooper, but it quickly became obvious that he had no hand in this. I suspected Harold for a little bit. He's the kind of guy who would put this together, but it didn't ring true to me. Remember: he was skeptical about Bob's existence. By the time the Archivist started adding documents that should be locked up under the highest level of security, I knew it had to be Briggs. There was no one else on the show that could have had access to this material. I was very glad when Briggs confessed to being the Archivist.
I'm also glad to have two of my questions from the "series finale" answered: Did Audrey, Pete and Andrew die in the bank explosion? Two of the three did. Audrey survived. Also, did Ben Horne die when he hit his head on the fireplace? No, he did not. It wasn't directly addressed, but given that these two events happen at roughly the same time, and Ben is in Audrey's hospital room after, it stands to reason he was only injured.
I have a few questions, though. The biggest question probably won't be answered until the new season, and it might not even be answered then. I wonder: how does the Black Lodge fit in with the aliens? Nixon says there are six different species of aliens. It is mentioned earlier in the book that there are two in particular who are warring with each other. Could one of these be behind the Black Lodge while the other is behind the White Lodge? If so, why does the Black Lodge manifest itself in the form of Bob & Co.?
Another big question, something that I'm almost certain will be answered by the new season, regards Jack Parsons's jade ring. Doug Milford meets with him twice, and both times he describes Parsons's habit of fiddling around with it. I'm 95% certain that this is the same ring that Chester finds in FIRE WALK WITH ME. How the hell did it get from Parsons to Teresa Banks? There is only one person who possibly knows the both of them: Doug Milford. The Archivist and TP seem to suspect that Milford was actually behind Parsons's death. If so, did he take the ring? If I'm right about this, why did he give it to Teresa? It's revealed late in the book that Milford was quite the cocksman, and he liked them young. Is it possible that he had a relationship with her? What was his purpose in giving her the ring? Was it just a gift? Or did he have nefarious intentions?
That ring fascinates me, especially now that I know that it belonged to Parsons. It also helps shed some light, little as it seems, on why Chester disappeared when he touched the ring. It could be a portal to the Black Lodge. Is it possible that Phillip Jeffries has used the ring--or a similar ring--to travel through time from the Black Lodge in FIRE WALK WITH ME? I looked at every scene Bowie was in, looking for that ring, and I sadly didn't find it. (It's worth noting that Bowie was supposed to return as Phillip Jeffries, but he sadly passed away before filming his scenes.)
So many new questions. It's a delicious mystery. I need the new season immediately. Can we put a rush on this, Lynch and Frost?
[EDIT: There was one thing I left out that disappointed me, considering Frost's otherwise spot-on attention to detail. Some of the documents early in the book are handwritten letters and journal entries from Lewis, Clark and Thomas Jefferson. I looked up actual samples of their handwriting, and it doesn't match. That's the ONLY thing this book got wrong.]
Dear God, what the fuck am I doing? Have I finally lost my mind? I think I have. Join me as I bizarrely become, this late in my life, a writer of fanfiction. But not any old fanfiction. No sir. I'm writing a special brand.
There was this guy I used to know. He was an utter dirtbag, but he fascinated me. I tried everything in my power to destroy his will to live, but I failed each and every time. He didn't even notice. He didn't even notice it when I created a fake Facebook page for him, one that actually got my own profile shut down, and I had to prove I was me to get it reopened. Or the time I . . . fuck it. I'm just embarrassing myself. Suffice it to say, this asshole is a piece of shit (who, I hasten to mention, has been--rightly, I believe--accused of rape), and he deserved everything I ever flung at him.
The one thing I did that was really amusing for me was writing, for a group of friends, these stories about him getting involved in pop culture worlds. For example, in the first one this guy, who I have cunningly named Cris Zim to protect the guilty, reluctantly teams up with Angel Investigations in order to save the world. In another he joins Project Stargate. In yet another he travels back in time for the greatest western crossover in the history of the world, joining together the forces of GUNSMOKE, RAWHIDE, MAVERICK, WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE and HAVE GUN WILL TRAVEL. Along the way there are references to ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK, ZARDOZ, BILL AND TED, TERMINATOR, TREMORS and more.
It is my hope that you will join me in this madness that I've called The Zimventures. I posted the first handful of chapters at once because Angel and friends aren't mentioned until later in the story, and I didn't want to be accused of not fulfilling my promise to Angel fanfic readers to involve their hero. I don't know how often I will post new chapters, but I'll post about it on Facebook and Twitter, so if you follow me in either of those places, you'll be among the first to know.
The real life Zim will probably never find out about this, but I don't care. It's a lot of fun. Plus, waaaaaay later in the series, I explain what happened to Gil Favor and Chester Goode. So if you're a fan of westerns and ever wondered what happened to those characters (outside of Eric Fleming's death and Dennis Weaver's decision to move on, of course), then I am here to help.
I can't believe I'm posting this lunacy. Now I know how J. Robert Oppenheimer felt. Strap in, folks. This is either the stupidest thing I've ever done, or it's amazing. Let's find out together. Click here to begin the craziness.
Whoo-boy. What an election. It was fun promoting books by running for president. For all of your John Bruni needs, go here. For all of your Danger_Slater needs, go here. Danger was a hell of a sport. I said a lot of crazy things in the name of this campaign, and he rolled with it all. Buy his books.
I guess that puts to rest the least popular hashtag in Twitter's history, #VoteBruniDanger2016. It was so unpopular that no matter how many times I typed it on my phone, it NEVER remembered it. It remembered the time that I fucked up and typed #VoteBr. It remembered that better than it remembered my own phone number. But I could never use auto-fill to get the actual hashtag up. I had to type it out each and every fucking time.
Ah well. Forget it. The election is over. Four years of chaos are upon us.
I just had a horrible thought. Checks and balances are supposed to keep anyone from achieving ultimate power in America. The Republicans have the executive branch. They're the majority of the legislative branch. The only thing standing between President Trump and Emperor Trump is the judicial branch. It's not looking good for the future of the Supreme Court. Check this out.
Yep, the Supreme Court is crumbling. If key members die--and it's very possible, considering how old they are--then Trump gets to appoint replacements. We all know he's not going to put anyone in there who disagrees with him. If that happens, then we no longer have checks and balances. That's kind of scary.
But there's nothing we can do about it (short of a bloody revolution). We're stuck with it, folks. I'm picking up my fiddle, and I'm gonna have me some fun while Rome burns. Embrace the madness. The Deathbird is coming. Get your kicks in while you can. It's time to get familiar with cannibalism.
Seriously, though. You assholes should have voted for me.
Wow. I can't believe what just happened tonight. There's a part of me that thinks that something is going to happen, and it's going to be revealed that there was some fuckery going on with the election. Probably not. If there was, we won't hear about it for years.
Whoo-boy. That's some rigged election we had there, Trump.
Sorry. I couldn't help that little jab.
It takes a lot to surprise me, folks. This surprises the fuck out of me. Maybe I got too confident in my ability to foresee the political future of America. I was born in 1978. The first election I was aware of was 1988. That was Bush I vs. Dukakis. I figured Dukakis would win because my grandfather wanted him to win (because he was Greek, just like my grandfather). In the gambling world, that's called "betting your heart." I lost, naturally.
Ever since then I have never EVER EVER been wrong about a presidential election . . . until today. I was certain Clinton would win. Surprise! I was so certain that I now have to rewrite a story in which I assumed Trump was going to lose.
I can't grasp it. President Trump. It's been a joke for so long, but I can't believe that he's going to take office in January. I wasn't thinking, I guess. I'd forgotten the wild card. The wild card that is 2016. It's been a shit year. I should have expected the worst.
I fucking loathed both Trump and Clinton. Fuck 'em both. They're scumbags of the slimiest order. They're both lower than whale shit. But, well, I figured Clinton would have been preferable. She's crooked at the least, a murderer at most. But she knows how to do the job. Government is so full of bullshit, as George Carlin once suggested, that if we removed it, the system would fall apart. She's the right scumbag to run this nation. Who knows? Maybe she even learned a few things from her husband. Remember when he ran this country? WE DIDN'T HAVE A DEFICIT. That's right, we lived debt free. We owned our own country. That's pretty remarkable. Maybe she would have gotten us out of our current mess.
No, I didn't vote for her. I didn't vote for anybody, not even myself. But! I live in Illinois, and the last time Illinois went to the Republicans was '88. (The grim specter.) Once again, IL went to the Democrats. My vote would not have mattered, just as I expected.
Then again, a lot happened tonight that I *didn't* expect.
I've seen a lot of my friends fall to pieces over this decision. Understandably so.
Ah fuck. I don't even know where I'm going with this. It's been so long since I've been wrong about an election, I'm in shock.
I'd say that Trump is racist, sexist, transphobic, etc. But I don't think he is. He just blurts shit out without thought. He's just a dick sucker. He'll say anything to get his way. Somehow he sensed that he'd get elected if he appealed to America's primitive underbelly, the one that thinks African Americans should be shipped back to Africa. Those who are surprised to learn that Native Americans are still around (didn't we kill them all?). The ones who think if you were born a certain sex and exhibit a need to be otherwise, you're subhuman. When you think about it, it's kind of shocking that Trump was able to say anything with that giant cock in his mouth.
Enough negativity. We're stuck with this situation. Let's try to look on the bright side. There is one. We still have hope. Maybe, just maybe, his garbage personality will result in something positive. I know, it's a long shot, but still.
A lot of my friends are in a bad place tonight. I'm sorry. I think we're all fucked, too. But there's a small part of me that thinks maybe something good will come of this. Maybe. I don't know. Neither do you. Or anyone. Not even Trump knows. He's too busy wrapping his lips around the rancid cocks of the lowest common denominator of the American people to think about the future.
I leave you with these final words. It's the best I can do right now. I hope those of you who feel miserable find some kind of comfort in them. I wish I could lay claim to these words, but all the credit goes to J.R.R. Tolkien:
Gandalf: "He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself. He will never be rid of his need for it."
Frodo: "It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance!"
Gandalf: "Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death. And some that died deserved life. Can you give it to them, Frodo? Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. Even the very wise cannot see all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before this is over. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."
Goodnight, you poor bastards. Goodnight, and good luck.
[You know how I'm running for US president this year? Let's go back in time for a moment, back to the year 2000. I was fresh out of college, so I wasn't quite over the age of 35 yet, like I say in the following story. We were gearing up for Bush vs. Gore, still enjoying the debt-free Clinton years. While drinking heavily with Rob Tannahill, my co-creator on The Cocaine! Bros., we wondered what it would be like for us to run for the highest office in the nation. I decided to write the following story. I'm posting it here without editing. I only corrected a couple of typos, so you can all see how far I've come as a writer. Sit back and enjoy the awkwardness. And no, this is not my current election plan. Rob is in jail right now, so he's not likely to help. I do have Danger_Slater as my running mate, so . . .]
THE DEVIL’S WORKSHOP
By John Bruni
It all started rather innocently. Rob and I sat on the
couch, drinking Jim Beam and watching Fear
and Loathing in Las Vegas for the millionth time. We knew the movie back
and forth, but that didn’t lessen our enjoyment. Still, we were bored as we
usually were in those days.
Rob was the one who came up with the idea. I’d just downed
my seventh shot and was settling back, enjoying my buzz. He said, “You know
what we should do?”
About a thousand witty comments came to mind, but my mouth
was less intelligent than my mind. Things just got lost in the translation. I
fumbled some line about male hookers. I stuttered. It made no sense.
“No,” Rob said. “We should run for president.”
I laughed. “Yeah. Great idea.”
“I’m serious.” And he really did sound serious.
“How the hell are we going to pull that off?”
“Are we or are we not above the age of thirty-five?”
“Are we not citizens of America, having lived here for at
least fourteen years and being born here?”
“Then we’re eligible.”
“We don’t have the kind of money it takes to campaign.”
“I got that figured out already. You sign up for the
Democratic ticket, and I’ll go Republican. They’ll give us the money.”
“Wait, we’ll be running against each other?”
“Yeah! It’ll be fun! Think of all the debates we could
“That would be pretty funny.”
“We could act like we’re getting really pissed off at each
other, and we could stage a fist fight.”
“We’ll need to stock up on blood capsules.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“What happens if one of us actually wins?” I asked.
“Then the winner will make the loser his vice-president.
Imagine the media backlash! That alone is worth the price of the ticket. And
let us not forget the games we could play with the American people once we have
the power to back them up.”
“Yeah. Remember the time Reagan joked about how we were
going to bomb the Russians when he thought the mic was off?”
“Except we’d know the mic’s on. Imagine the havoc.”
I laughed as he took a shot of Beam. “Yeah, we could run for
president. Or we could just go get a burger somewhere.”
“I’m serious. Look, the DNC’s in town in a month. We’ll get
you nominated. I’ll make sure of it. Then you can return the favor for me at
“What if I want to be the Republican candidate?”
“No way. I got dibs on that.”
“Come on. It’s not as much fun, pretending to be a
“Sure it will be. Think of the fun we could have when it
comes to the mudslinging part. We could set up some pictures of you soliciting
prostitutes. You can get pictures of me with a goat. Then I’ll get pictures of
you with a harem of dogs, and you can get one of me jerking off with a
“Then, when you present pictures of me with a hollowed out
pineapple and conjoined sextuplets, I’ll actually throw mud at you.”
“You’re a natural at this.” He grinned. “Of course in the
face of such irrefutable evidence as undoctored photographs we must deny
everything to the last drop.”
“Do you have any love children?” Rob asked.
“As in, children you had as the result of a secret affair?”
“I know what a love child is. And no, you know I don’t.”
“Then we’ll make some up. We’ll also need wives.”
“How are we going to get them?” I asked.
“Well, I’ll just get a girlfriend. We’ll have to buy a woman
“We can hardly afford a prostitute’s hourly rates,” I said,
passing on his feeble attempt at humor. “Buying a wife could be a mite
“Well, if we go to the ghetto we could get you a crack whore
for a nickel.”
“Yeah, but she’ll always be asking for crack.”
“True.” He sighed. “Are mail order brides still a thing?”
“Sounds a bit like slavery. Probably not.”
“We’ll look into it, anyway.”
We lapsed into silence long enough to finish off the Beam.
As Rob took down the last shot, he laughed. “I can’t wait for the convention.
We’re going to kick so much ass.”
“Wait a minute. You’re not really serious about this, are
“How many times do I have to say it? Yes, I’m serious.”
“Then we’d better figure out our policies.”
“Easy. We’ll run as extremists. Since I’m going to be
Republican, I’ll pound the Bible and yap about prayer in school. I’ll protect
big business interests and gun lobbyists. I’ll try to enact a law that will
deport black people back to Africa.”
“You’re not really going to say that.”
“Yes, I am. I’m trying to be Republican, remember?”
“We’re playing a joke on America, get it? It’s just a joke.
I’m not really going to make being black in America illegal.”
“A lot of rednecks are going to take you seriously.”
“That’s the point.”
“Okay, then how am I going to run?”
“Simple. You go against everything I say, except you also
rail for women’s rights while sexually harassing them at the same time.”
“But don’t worry. In the end we’ll be the same because we’ll
be solicited by big business. We’ll be representing their interests.”
I laughed. “Sounds accurate.”
“Don’t forget to talk about the children a lot. That’s very
We watched the rest of the movie in silence. When the video
was rewinding Rob said, “I’m hungry. Let’s get a taco.”
Ever appreciative of a Reservoir
Dogs reference, I laughed, and we went to Taco Bell for food. And Mom, if
you’re reading this, we hired a cab. Honest.
They wouldn’t let us in at the DNC. Regardless, there were
way too many cops, and the place was filled beyond limit. Dejected, we shuffled
off to a nearby park where we sat on a bench. Rob lit up a cigarette.
“So much for that idea,” I said.
“Yeah. Too bad. We could’ve had a lot of fun. I guess we’ll
have to go independent.”
“You still want to run for president?”
“Hell yeah. Of course we’ll now have to run together, and
our campaign will be serious, but once we get to the White House the real
“How are we going to run without money?” I asked.
“Campaign donations from the simple folk, John. Our slogan:
‘Let’s Return America to a Simpler Time.’ It’ll be very grassroots with a lot
of morals. People love that kind of nonsense.”
He ignored me. “We’ll need gimmicks. Do you know where we
can buy a midget? Like the one in O
Brother, Where Art Thou?”
“Buy a midget?”
“Are you kidding? Everyone loves midgets. There’s, like, a
midget renaissance going on.”
“Buy a midget?”
“Or maybe we should go the Bulworth route. We’ll get the wigger vote.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I understand monkeys are quite the fashion, so we’ll need a
few of those, too.”
“Wipe that confused yet awed sheen from your face, chum.
We’re politicians now.”
So we ran for president. Actually, Rob ran for president. I
ran as his vice-president. There’s not much to say here, nothing humorous. We
poured on the simpler time stuff pretty heavily, and people bought it hook,
line, and sinker. I felt like a strange new breed of televangelist for taking
their donations, but it went to a good cause: to satisfy our idle hands.
When we started to get national notice, the big businesses
started making hefty donations. Naturally we cashed them but denied doing so in
public. It was because of this money that we were able to pop full into the
limelight, where we proved to be stronger than the Republicans and Democrats
thought we were. Neither of their candidates wanted to take Rob’s offer of a
debate (he desperately wanted to face off against the incumbent president). The
majority of electoral votes went to us. The “simpler time” card really worked.
It all started falling apart with Rob’s inaugural speech.
After giving his thanks to the nation, he said, “First and foremost, I’m going
to see what I can do about eliminating the separation between church and
Many started shouting angrily, but there were also a few
“From here on out,” he continued, “those who don’t believe
in the one true Christian God will be executed without trial.”
More yelling came from the crowd, and I heard someone shout
something about the Bill of Rights.
“Thanks for reminding me,” Rob said. “The Bill of Rights,
considering how it was written more than two centuries ago, is now archaic and
outdated. So we’ll be getting rid of that, too.”
If not for the police, already dressed in riot gear, I’m
sure the audience would have charged the stage.
“We will also begin shipping black people back to Africa, as
per the wishes of real Americans. Any black people wishing to stay may do so,
but only as slaves.”
At that point the violence got to be too much, so the Secret
Service hustled Rob off stage. While Rob was completely joking about all of
that stuff, it’s worth noting that quite a few people cheered him on when he
started talking about African Americans being shipped away. I guess we’re not
all that far from the nineteenth century.
The next morning Rob resigned from office. This is a
transcript of his farewell speech:
“Good morning, my fellow Americans. It is with tremendous
grief that I must announce my resignation and ask for your forgiveness.
Yesterday I played a most horrendous joke on the people of this great nation,
and many took it seriously. I admit it was tasteless and wrong, and I
“This afternoon Vice-President John Bruni will be sworn in
as your new leader. John has been kind enough to offer the office of the
vice-presidency to me. I have graciously accepted it.
“Once again, I am perennially sorry for my flippant actions.
Goodbye, and God bless America.”
I’m sure a lot of people would have been happy if not for my
inaugural speech. After thanking everybody and pardoning Rob publicly, I
presented my audience with my new idea.
“In the past half-year I’ve traveled all over this great
country of ours. The most popular remark I heard was that, and I quote, ‘What
this country needs is a good war,’ end-quote. To satisfy these people—and it is
my job to make the people of America happy—I have decided to start a war. My
aides have written out the names of every country in the world, and we’ve put
them all in this top hat.” I showed them the hat. “Whichever name I pull out,
we’ll bomb it.”
A murmur went through the crowd, and most people looked
absolutely horrified as I reached into the hat. I plucked out a piece of paper
and unfolded it. “And our new national arch enemy is . . . Alabama? Okay, who’s
Some chuckles came from the audience, but most were still
taking this seriously.
I threw the paper away and tried again. “This time, no
fooling.” I unfolded the next piece of paper. “I think you’ll all like this
one. Looks like we’re going back to Vietnam!”
The crowd went wild, not with joy, but with anger. I could
tell Rob was trying desperately not to laugh when I did this.
“I knew you’d be up for it. Those bastards’ll never see us
coming. It’s time to finish the job and set history straight. Bombing starts in
twenty-four hours. Thank you, and God bless America.”
The resulting riot was quelled three hours later by the
cops. The worries of the other nations, however, would go on for much longer.
All night the White House phones rang off the hooks with calls from kings,
presidents, and other heads of state from all over the world. China threatened
to side with Vietnam, as did a number of other countries.
I tendered my resignation the next morning. This is the
“My fellow Americans, I am dreadfully sorry for the events
of last night. To those who don’t believe I was joking, I present to you the
fact that I, as president of the United States, could not force what I was
talking about last night. That’s Congress’s job. The system of checks and
balances prevents such injustices.
“It was a horrible joke, and I apologize profusely.
“Vice-President Robert Tannahill will be sworn in again at
noon as your leader. He has been kind enough to ask me to stay on as his
vice-president. I have accepted his offer.
“Again, I apologize. Thank you, and God bless America.”
I think by the time Rob was finished with his second
inaugural address, people were starting to realize we were joking.
“I’d first like to apologize for John’s tasteless joke,” he
said. “Now to new business. Instead of shipping black people back to Africa,
we’ll be shipping all the white people back to Europe.”
There were some laughs, but the majority—now realizing what
a joke we were—were not angry but disgusted.
“Oh come on,” Rob said. “I thought you’d be with me on this
one. I can’t win with you fuckers, can I?”
Need I present a transcription of his resignation speech?
Very few people showed up for my second inaugural speech.
That was too bad, considering how serious the speech was. I didn’t say one
controversial thing. We’d decided to revert to our “return to a simpler
Then I went on a world tour at the taxpayers’ expense.
Honestly I was disappointed. The architecture is great in other countries, but
you can’t find a decent cheeseburger outside the States.
By the time I’d returned our next scandal was well underway.
Newspapers all over the country published pictures of me at an orgy, goat and
all. The headlines proclaimed me a sex maniac with strange fetishes. Is this
man a good role model for our children?
Naturally I resigned, bringing Rob back into the presidency.
He played this inauguration straight, but not many people were there to notice.
The nation was sick and tired of us. They said we were
making a mockery of America and sullying the good office of the US president.
As if we were the first to be guilty of that.
They started shouting for impeachment. At this point we had
to wonder, “What would Dick Nixon do?”
So we both resigned. I guess that wasn’t too bad. The joke
was starting to get old, anyway.
Instead of writing our own farewell speech, we used Nixon’s.
For a bit of fun we added at the end, “This is our last press conference. You
won’t have us to kick around anymore.”
And that is the tale of the strangest presidency in the
history of America.
A year later Rob and I sat on the couch, drinking Jim Beam,
and watching Bloodsucking Freaks. Our
shenanigans had long since been forgotten, and we no longer qualified as
celebrities (despite the fact that Comedy Central bought the movie rights and
aired the wretched product starring Adam Sandler as Rob and David Spade as me;
no one watched it). We found ourselves bored once again with nothing better to
do than drink and watch cult classics.
For my entire life I have been unsettled by our government and the way it is run. Our system is fucked. It's unfair. It's garbage. Long time readers will remember this from years ago, when I complained about how rich white men make all the decisions in this country, and that's the way our system was designed from way back when, back when democracy meant practically nothing.
For the most part I still believe this. Our whole system, which is fucking ancient, needs to be retooled. This garbage makes no sense now. BUT! I've done a lot of thinking about this, and it sucks. I might have been wrong back then. Not about the rich white men doing shit. That's always been the case. No, I mean that maybe I was wrong about going with the popular vote.
In my youthful naivety I forgot about one thing: human beings are pieces of shit. The public should not be allowed to make important decisions. They are guided by one thing and one thing only: ME. Fuck everyone else. It's ME I'm concerned with. Fair enough. We all want to preserve our own way of life. But human beings, for the most part, can't be bothered with other ways of life. We're tribal. If something falls outside of our belief system we feel a moral obligation to fuck it to death with our mind dicks.
I feel more impotent than I've ever felt in my entire life. There's no sane way out of this. We can let America's id run rampant and get Trump into office, or we can let our superego let Clinton win the White House. But there's no way to make us all happy.
Fuck Trump. Fuck Clinton. Fuck all these other assholes who will never win but are still somehow on the ballot. Fuck this country. We need something new. Something different.
Do you realize how insane this year has been? This election? If it had happened 50 years ago, everyone would have been executed for the best of our nation. Trump and Clinton are sick dogs that need to be put down so we can actually do something creative with our country.
I'd say to vote for me and Danger Slater, but even that's a joke. I wouldn't know what to do with this shit show that 2016 is. But what the hell? If I was president I might sell more books. Same for Danger, who is an amazing writer. The dude is unstoppable.
Yeah, it would be funny. But it would be pointless. Fuck everybody.
What follows is a quote from the smartest person on Twitter, Neil deGrasse Tyson. I take a lot of comfort in this quote, and I probably shouldn't. I love life, and I love our potential, but a philosophy professor once told me that he hates the word "potential." He said, holding his empty hand aloft, "Right now I'm holding a potential sandwich."
True. Enjoy the following words from a great astrophysicist. And try not to lose too much sleep. What we do here is meaningless. Our only purpose is to make life easier for each other. Don't hate. Love. In the end we're all dead. Let's make this journey as pleasant as possible. Fuckers.
In 5-billion yrs the Sun will expand & engulf our orbit as the charred ember that was once Earth vaporizes. Have a nice day.
John Bruni is the author of a crime novel, STRIP (from MUSA), and a collection of short stories, TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE (from StrangeHouse). His shorter work has appeared most notably in SHROUD, MORPHEUS TALES, OVER MY DEAD BODY!, PRODUCT OF SOCIETY, CTHULHU SEX MAGAZINE, TRAIL OF INDISCRETION, AOIFE’S KISS, TALES OF THE TALISMAN, THE BRACELET CHARM, HOUSE OF BIZARRO and a number of other magazines including anthologies from StrangeHouse (ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG!), Pill Hill Press (A HACKED-UP HOLIDAY MASSACRE), Comet Press (the critically acclaimed VILE THINGS) and Nightblade (LOST INNOCENCE). He was the poetry editor of MIDDLEWESTERN VOICE, and he was the editor of TABARD INN: TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE. When he is not slaving away at the keyboard, he can be found in any number of bars (probably enjoying Wild Turkey 101 straight up), or in front of a television, watching things that would probably shock his parents. He lives in Elmhurst, IL, and can be found at www.talesofquestionabletaste.com. Follow him on Twitter: @tusitalabruni.