Aden McCool and the Mystery of Skull Island-Chapter One

Since Serazio has been woefully delinquent in the Placklin Group's previously outlined literary efforts I have decided to write a chapter for him.

Skull Island, Chapter One

Skull Island is positioned ignominiously at an unusual bend in the mighty Rillito River just outside the line of demarcation between the bustling metropolis of Tucson, AZ and unincorporated Pima Co. To acknowledge its presence as an island is a bit of a misnomer since the Rillito itself is nothing more than a dry riverbed scattered with the refuse of the God fearing denizens of Tucson. Over 140 years prior the miserable spit of sand was utilized by the Confederate States as a fortified ammunition dump to control what, according to long since shamed cartographers, was considered an important navigable waterway.

The useless sand bar fell into disrepair over the years and was generally ignored by the majority of local citizens. Excluding, of course, those property owners with a direct line of sight to Skull Island who complained bitterly, with ample scientific evidence, of the unusual spike in leukemia deaths among those within a 500-yard radius.

Rumors had persisted for years that a drug addled Legionnaire possessing a jewel-encrusted scepter called Skull Island home. Some claimed the bombastic cries of the ostracized mercenary warlord could be heard at strange hours in the night when, it was assumed, he was in the throes of yet another terrifying morphine crippled dream-trance.

When Aden McCool awoke that fateful summer morning he was called on to the scene of a brutal murder of a teenage prostitute who, weeks earlier, had fled her Eastside home.

McCool, it was said, extracted the sap of fallen mesquite branches to utilize as a shaving balm in the morning. For a razor McCool calmly turned to his 12” Bowie knife, which incidentally came in handy when grappling with the more nefarious elements of the Tucson populous. Although consistently the epicenter of controversies ranging from flagrant corruption to unwarranted pre-trial killings it was difficult to argue against the considerable drop in violent crime in his district.

The first words from McCool’s mouth at the crime scene were, “Looks like some preternatural sex fiend pumped this floozy full of semen in every conceivable orifice before bludgeoning her to death with what can only be a jewel encrusted scepter.”

Never one for consideration, tact, or niceties of any sort McCool disregarded the fact that his comments fell well within earshot of the local camera crew recording live from the crime scene. Somewhere in an Eastside subdivision the girl’s parents wept in unimaginable darkness.

McCool’s indifferent gaze traced the meandering riverbed to Skull Island. He had no idea at the time that fate would dictate that the mystery of this otherwise routine prostitute bludgeoning would lead him inexorably to Skull Island.
-Aden

An Open Letter to the President of the Islamic Republic of Iran

As long as we're tossing out Open Letters to People Who Are Unlikely To Respond, here's one that I submitted as a column to my buddy's "Citizen Culture" magazine:

Dear Mr. Ahmadinejad:

I happen to notice in the newspaper recently that you called for a ban on Western music. An excellent idea! Nothing announces to the world and your people confidence among the marketplace of ideas quite like a nice, swift (and thorough!) act of censorship. I myself have called for a ban from time to time (unregulated “soft money” campaign contributions, pickles on hamburgers, the continued existence of Maroon 5 on God’s green earth), but I lack the political or religious standing to really make it stick.

However, you may not be entirely well-versed in the depth of depravity and decadence that has taken root in Western pop culture. Might I proffer a few specifications and/or additions?

Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones for the Xbox. Mere mention of “princedom” and “thrones” seems a touch antithetical and, shall we say, outmoded for a progressive, wholly democratic nation, which Iran most certain is.

Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. Harmless on the surface, Mahmoud. But if played backwards, it spells out the exact GPS coordinates of your underground nuclear weapons cache. Granted, you have to be doing a lot of LSD and listening to exiles in the National Council of Resistance of Iran at the same time.

Dallas: The Complete First and Second Seasons. Perhaps the most egregious example of a Jewish clan lusty for oil and power. Admittedly, a few tweaks to the script here and there over the years slightly obfuscated the Ewing’s family Hebraic roots. In the pilot, for example, Larry Hagman’s character was originally called Schmoikel Rabinowitz.

In all seriousness, you have just been on fire this year, my man. The zingers do not stop. There was that whole Holocaust hullabaloo, which required us to parse your vexing logic: If 6 million Jews weren’t killed by the Nazis, why would the establishment of Israel be a “continuation” of genocide? You can’t have it both ways.

Then you shared sentiments with Pat Robertson on ailing Ariel Sharon – always good company to be in when it comes to level-headedness. However, given that you’re also pals with Hugo Chavez – who supports your nuclear aims, inked a deal on Iranian infrastructure investment and was recently in Robertson’s rhetorical crosshairs – that could get a little awkward if you all ever hang out together. (Why do I also see George Steinbrenner at that party?)

The question, of course, is whether this alleged pro-Western strain among many of your people is all hype and if, by opting for extremism, we’ll see a counterrevolution sparked by those moderates. That’s the scenario that makes us gun-shy Great Satanists all warm and fuzzy at night: a popular and democratic regime change without American hands getting obliquely dirty. And given your anemic economy and listless unemployment levels, it’s a scenario that could play out. After all, blaming the West and blacklisting the Black Eyed Peas is a familiar strategy for the embattled demagogue whose domestic distress is not so easily addressed. In football terms, it’s a reverse misdirection – from a political playbook that Chavez himself knows well. But at the end of the day, censoring culture doesn’t create jobs. It only further inflames the unemployed who can no longer get Springer at 10 A.M.

What trips us out, though, really, is this apocalyptic hot streak that you’ve got going. If we understand correctly your fervor for the apparently imminent Mahdi, or 12th Imam who will rule at the end times, then, well, you’d probably fit in just fine with millions of Left Behind readers who are in similar rapture in the United States.

Problem is – those folks didn’t just break the seals on uranium enrichment facilities, putting you perhaps five to ten years away from nuclear weaponry. Since Israel’s already got theirs, that puts us back in a world gone MAD, well after the Cold War warmed up. Geez, if only banning music was that harmless.

serazio.

Grappling with the HOA

Lovers, attached is my recent correspondence to the HOA in response to my neigbor's propensity for obnoxious sound, do enjoy.

February 8, 2006
1200 E. River Rd. K-147
Tucson, AZ 85718

To Whom it May Concern,

This is an effort on my part to file a formal complaint against the owner of Unit K138 in response to his persistent decision to maintain a volume level on his stereo/television/gaming system that regularly penetrates the walls separating our respective domiciles.

It is noteworthy that I refer to my neighbor as “him” for to some this might register as being dangerously presumptuous on my part. However, in the multitude of instances throughout my life that I’ve had a female for a neighbor I’ve never encountered one who, in the course of her nocturnal activities, insisted on creating such an unnecessary raucous at weird and unpredictable hours in the evening/night (short of rendering a detailed analysis of activities that would have a ruinous effect on this letter’s PG-13 rating).

While this noise used to be sporadic it is evident –according to the last few weeks of sporadic sleep patterns on my part- that this gentlemen maintains an unusual schedule and insists that I’m cognizant of it at all times. He obviously refuses to accept the role of headphones in our 21st century society; moreover, he’s oblivious to the known fact that when your neighbor pounds on the wall s/he might as well be saying, “You’re an obnoxious and ill-tempered swine and I no longer wish to be appraised of your music and/or television habits at hours ranging from 6:00p.m. to 1:00a.m.!”

I’ve lain awake many nights wondering what, exactly, this man does with his free time. Is he an unemployed lecherous drunk who whittles away the early morning hours molesting purebred Border Collies? Or is it a more tempered explanation centering on an unshakable addiction to the “perfect storm” of choreographed cinematic violence, caffeine, and latent pornography? I’d maintain a silent indifference were he to engage in any number of such activities in a peaceable and quiet manner.

In fact, were any such theories proven correct I would no doubt enjoy the shot of vitality and unusual dynamism that having such a neighbor would provide; so long it was done quietly and with any semblance of respect for his neighbors.

The reality of his existence is likely far more prosaic than what I’ve alluded to thus far, and in all likelihood he’s a well adjusted member of our community who is simply unaware of the deleterious effect he is having on my sleep patterns. Unfortunately his naiveté is not a welcome justification for the repetitive maddening “thud” of the bass on his entertainment system.

In closing, I’d ask that the 1200 E. River HOA at least warn the dumb brute that his actions will soon attract an appropriate fine in conjunction with the stipulations of our collective HOA agreement. Should the threat or formal levying of such fines fail to remedy this quandary I’ll willingly strap him up by his genitals and utilize a ripened bamboo cane to “remind” him that our community has rules that are to the benefit of all. However, I sincerely believe we live in an advanced society where the rule of law precludes need for such draconian manifestations of corporal punishment.

Respectfully,

Aden Acklin

Superbowl outcome explained

In case anyone was wondering what happened on Sunday’s game, it had nothing to do with either of the teams perceived skills, but rather their fortunes were determined many moons ago. It goes to say, be very careful when choosing a name, for it is the most important part. As reported on various sites, re-arranging the letters in PITTSBURGH STEELERS one could spell SUPERB RIGHT TESTES (minus the L). On the other hand, SEATTLE SEAHAWKS can be re-arranged to spell WEAK ASS ATHLETES.

So Jeremy, I don’t know how quickly you embraced Seattle, but if you are disappointed, you shouldn’t be, because everyone knew Seattle would lose, and it’s because of the age old Chinese proverb; “salty taste of right testes resonate in mouth of weak ass athletes for long time”.

And for those of you non-believers out there who think this anagram thing is bogus, read on for further proof. NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS can be arranged to spell “New England Patriots” (among other things) which if looked up in a thesaurus will list such synonyms as “winning”, “gold”, “best ever”, “Zeus”, and “in effigie Dei”. Under the antonym section, one might find such words as “Seattle Seahawk”, “Bill Cowher’s smile”, and “the Democrats’ chances of winning the 2008 election”.

I’m glad I could be of some help to every (roughly 46 people) Seahawk fan who has lost sleep the past few nights searching for answers. And as for next year, watch for the Patriots to stay true to their anagram.

-Maben

and yes, this was a lame attempt to suck on the Patriot's teet one last time before next season