BellGab.com Archive

LT's Theory Of Pets, recorded live at London's Royal Festival Hall.

Read by the author, Stephen King.

Your local weather driving you crazy? 
Extreme weather videos. 
Annoying weather forecasters.
Your personal weather sensors hooked into your computer.
A metal can with a tomato label still on it, used to measure rainfall.
Your grandparents' questionable weather vane.
Vintage weather predicting postcards that change color.
And the heat. My God, the heat.

It's all good.

Diets, exercises, experiences, opinions, frustrations, successes, suggestions, and general interest or apathy when navigating the never ending confrontation between Good and Evil (cholesterol?).

Your mission, your calling, your CONVICTION:

To cast out that insidious inverted food pyramid driven demon:



The battle...

Begins...

With YOU.

I will be a more consistent degenerate gambler and a more consistent winner in 2014.

Using the well known Morrison anagram, I have designed a talisman to guarantee more good luck and more cash winnings in 2014 than what was experienced in 2013. The precise lines and crossings collectively operate as an astral engine that affects the material plane.

(I have also painted the schematic above the barn door to ward off the curse that killed off the corn and cattle this year.)

Activation Evocation:

Selah - beehive...
So mote it be...
Jimmy Morrison crack corn on LSD...

Cam out.

I always enjoy his posts, whether they are about guitar repair or about the tactical takeover of a near surface DC* via a cave in Atkins, Arkansas not far from the pickle plant.

At times, the notes (heh) to setting up a guitar read oddly similar to methods of destabilizing a Detrimental Robot; while the cure for a buzzing nut is reminiscent of a dinner with Don Rickles.

As Joe Bob Briggs once said about his chat room so long ago during TNT's Monstervision days:

"You'll need a helmet, and a cup."

So dive on in, with The General.

Take it away, General.

I have to go hunt down Spike Girl. We're going to need her help with the latest Deros clusterfuck.

B.C.N.U.

*Deros Camp; see Richard Sharpe Shaver

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Bloody Hell.

Blood banks. Religious sacrifice. Science. Occult. Your Lynard Skynard anniversary blood drive t-shirt. Sex. Vampires. Medicine. Phobias. Blood spatter analysis.

A thread about a common thread we all share: B L O O D

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It's that time of year again that I love to hate.  Millionaire athletes having to be coddled and prodded to not: brandish a gun at a strip club, break a coach/owner imposed curfew, overindulge in alcohol, use drugs, deal drugs, hit their mom, etc.

God, I hate the Dallas Cowboys.

"America's team" sucks pigskin.  And likes it.

P.S.

Tom Landry =  The Good

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Inspired by Zircon, McPhallus, myself, et al, on the John B. Wells thread.

While it's topic worthy to me, I don't know if it will grow legs.

Eddie Coyle recently mentioned the asshole factor of State Troopers.

When one of these fine civil servants pulls me over and asks, "Did you know you were speeding?" how the fuck am I supposed to answer that? He'll have a smart ass answer no matter what I say. It's an exercise in frustration.

For commenting on anything of technological interest in the news or on your mind if you do not wish to start a unique thread about it.

Software, electronics, engineering, automobiles, spaceships, planes, trains, submarines, power tools, cool gadgets, building pyramids, Selectric typewriters, inventions, bio-tech, military weaponry/black projects, etc.

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 Many share that memory of a favorite toy or a toy that was desired but never owned.

While most are unforgettable, there is often a toy that we just can't seem to remember what the hell it was called.  We may have wanted to own it, or we may have owned it and played with it until it disintegrated.

And now (at your advanced age) you've Googled for answers until your fingers are bleeding; you've stared at the screen until the whites of your eyes are as mapped as a Snakes and Ladders board.

No luck.

This is the thread for those toys - a thread for the chance someone might solve the son-of-bitching mystery that is eating at you, day after day.

Instead of napping today, as I should have been, I have been killing time via a barrage of postings while waiting to leave for the airport to catch a Red Eye jaunt to the Netherworld. 

I was hoping to reach some unheard of (for me) percentile activity of 50%.

I did not make my goal, and now I have to get going.

So for the duration of my vacation, if you are so inclined and suffer the malady,

Do This In Remembrance Of Me.

(I can be a sacrilegious bastard, you have to give me that much)

I invite you to post descriptions of those *$!#^?%(}  toys that still haunt you, but the names of which you cannot remember.

When I return, it is my sincere hope to read a half-dozen or more Mystery Toy dramas that are driving those concerned completely bat-shit crazy. Who knows? Maybe someone in the forum will know EXACTLY what you are talking about.


   Until then,

        I remain,

            Your faithful and loyal servant,

    CAMAZOTZ  (THE) AUTOMAT


P.S.

Parting shot to fellow Hell rats:

If you're gonna die, die with your boots on!


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Welcome to the Sixty Day Cycle Divination Room.  What do you "know" will happen within the next sixty days? Will you go on the record? And how did you arrive at your insight?

Death, politics, the economy, personal conquest.  Just about anything is fair game except presidential mortality, which Art always discouraged because the MIB will come knocking.

Inevitably, crow ingestion will ensue due to the small time window, but it is crucial that we discover the most gifted clairvoyant of this forum. (so we can burn them at the stake.)

I will go first. (and thus fail first)

Within sixty days, someone from Fleetwood Mac (TUSK era specifically) will be joining Barry Gibb and Donna Summer.

I used various systems of divination:

I was playing around with a tarot deck and the 8 of 8 track tapes came up in culmination while using a Monster In My Pocket Ganesha figure as a three dimensional significator.

The Ouija board spelled out S U K T.

I read the entrails of a sacrificed Pioneer 8-Track tape deck which had recently eaten a "Hits of the 70s & 80s" tape. 

Shots of George Dickel with RC Cola chasers.

recap:

Fleetwood Mac celebrity death.

tools recap:

1) Tarot Deck
2) M.I.M.P. figure
3) Ouija Board
4) Tape Deck
5) Whiskey

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It may have happened recently or decades ago - either way, it still haunts you, because -

You've eliminated the usual suspects; friends, family members, significant others,  the cleaning lady, and sadistic burglars (whose only goal in life would be to break into your apartment and take one small item to gaslight you.) 

You've searched your trash; you've searched it again.  You've looked in places that are completely illogical.

If you're lucky, the item just as mysteriously reappears and you laugh it off as some sort of reverse hallucination (not seeing something that is there, versus seeing something that is not there.) 

If you're unlucky, the item is never found.  The event is especially egregious if you live alone and consider yourself well organized.

If you're very unlucky, more unexplained disappearances follow. Sometimes from the same area as the previous item(s).

Whether you suspect the wee folk, parallel universes, dimensional doorways, poltergeists, time travelers, aliens, Men In Black, etc.....

Not so surprisingly, I am not feeling very festive and am guilty of using this site as a cathartic bridge (but don't we all, as far as traversing while concurrently removing the waxy mellow yellow Noory buildup on our neuron-laden  plains/planes/floors?  Suddenly, GurdjieffGab is recognized as an ersatz Mr. Clean.) 

I'm speaking, however, of a less specific "bridge." (Jimmy Page not withstanding.)

As Roger Waters crooned, "And I can feel one of my turns coming on."

So, despite the thread title, I can only wish you a

HAPPY MACH 5 DAY.

That's the best I can do.  It is, after all, the thought that counts.

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Consoling an ill friend, I typed this message to her, just several minutes ago, but caught it before hitting SEND:

"I hope your bronchitits abates soon."

Was it a slip or simply a typo?

I thought it might make an interesting topic, whether with personal experiences or reports of Noory (or whomever) revealing the Mundus Subterraneus.

(For the record, I honestly only meant to express my empathy for the condition of her tronchial bubes. - Cam)

Not quite the opposite of the THINGS THAT ANNOY YOU topic, but definitely in the other general direction.

I'm not very interested in sports, therefore, I tend to dismiss sports films right out of the gate.

Also, part of the latter is due to being beaten over the high school head (for four consecutive years) with five celluloid reels of Brian's Song way back when velociraptors ruled the Earth.

I just finished watching MONEYBALL, and surprisingly, I liked it. 

I liked the idea (meta number crunching vs. single player fixation), I liked the acting, and I liked the soundtrack. I liked the correct amount of authentic baseball footage used. If the credits had revealed Thomas Köner had provided the ambient sound for some of the empty arena/hallway scenes and that Philip Glass had provided crucial crescendos, I would not have been surprised.  I liked the soundtrack that much. It was well done. I laughed like a baboon at Philip Seymour Hoffman in coaching gear. All he had to do was stand there in polyester self-righteousness while arguing with Pitt and it was funny.

There were a lot of temperamental outbursts with baseball bats flying and things breaking that rang true and that I enjoyed very much.

So. MONEYBALL. I liked it, for far more reasons than I listed above - and I am surprised at how much I liked it.

Ex Dallas Cowboy, Mr. D, called the authorities and apparently filed assault charges against his wife.  Police promptly escorted her from the Sanders mansion and incarcerated her.

The funny thing is, the only one injured is the wife.  Busted lip and broken thumb.

Then Mr. Sanders uses Facebook, telling his friends to "pray for me!"

Oh, Fuck me Running.  What a scuzzball.

All the facts are not in, but I detect the high probability of my long-term, irrational, yet instinctive HATRED for Deion was on the money.

Pray for me! Pray for me!

That kind of thing ....   I have no words.  A trained athlete who, at best, is utilizing police resources for his personal use .... and at worst, is a routine wife beater and merely made a preemptive call to police to establish an advantage.

This is like the 5th time the police have been to the mansion for domestic problems.  I'm sure they are impressed and get autographs, yadda yadda yadda...

Shades of O.J.

When using a Ouija board, I always use it by myself, and I usually start with a black candle that I allow to burn for a few minutes as I visualize myself and the room covered in a bloody light.  I then deliberately invoke Choronzon, pulling in all the negativity I can possibly assimilate.

I rest my fingers lightly on the planchette....

And I get WGSKQYGHXPV3FHT8.

Having evangelical Christian Chuck Messler proselytizing as a guest is scraping the bottom of the barrel, even for Noory. 

George thoroughly enjoyed saying "Chuck" repeatedly, the most egregious example being:

"Is the Antichrist out there right now, Chuck?"

"Yes."

(Across the country, thousands of indignant truckers sounded their air horns in crystal meth united defiance against the Antichrist - their Lot Lizard passengers squealed encouragement with an exuberance once reserved for high school football games. ((A disproportionate number of high school cheerleaders become Lot Lizards or Porn Stars. Don't hate me for that. I'm just the messenger.)) )

Meanwhile, Messler warbled on and on and on, sounding for all the world like a ranch hand extra from Cat Ballou being filtered through a Woolworth's fish tank as George interjected:

"I'm 99.9% sure the Rapture will not occur on May 21."

A horrible radio show.

THEN, just before it was all over, the last JACKASS CALLER said "This has got to be the greatest Coast To Coast Show ever."

It is TRULY a good and great thing my radio is encased in Kevlar and it was fortunate I was nowhere near that last caller, because I would have committed a cold blooded homicide.

Bad host.  Bad guest.  Bad caller.  = Bad bad bad radio.

B³ radio.

I caught Anthony Hopkins on Jimmy Kimmel Live recently.  Hopkins said that he once asked a Jesuit Priest what the "shortest prayer" was. 

The Jesuit revealed it was "Fuck it."

Now that is entertainment.

George beating the "rapture horse" to death is an example of pure desperation fired by a monumental lack of creativity.

Somewhen in the future, a dead Art Bell is rolling in his grave - lathing at the speed of light, sloughing off tachyons at his own event horizon... particles which are traveling to my brain tonight like a scene from John Carpenter's Prince of Darkness.

Herein I have completely explained the Operation of the Sun.

(Mezcal-laced burp here)

(a tip of the pyramid hat to Mabuse if he is still checking in.)

I know there used to be a few phans in this forum.

Director Don Coscarelli released this in December and I'm just now getting up to speed.





NewPhantasmTrailer.mpg

Mr. McDonald's m.o. is a near perfect example of mail order Rosicrucianism gone terribly wrong.

Had only I been present years ago when McDonald was sitting in some public library, a glossy OMNI magazine splayed before him like a two dimensional whore of Babylon centerfold ...

I could have prevented him from snipping out that A.M.O.R.C. coupon:

"Brother, you don't want to do that... it's only going to fuck you up, because you will try to reconcile everything you may learn with the KJV Bible and it's only going to cause you to bifurcate.... Don't do it. I'm fucking begging you. 2012 will come and go and you are going to look as stupid as a white man in Watts listening to Eminem."

But I wasn't there.  No one stopped McDonald on his stupid vector and now he spews inaccurate things like "our universe was born in the center of the Milky Way."(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Noor Spore sits there like a rock as McDonald jumps to the book of Matthew after name dropping the Hopi and his third eye being opened, his spiritual download, and the universal matrix...  and...  and... you can tell even George Noory is getting fed up with this lunatic.

Meanwhile, I go to his website and he looks like a pickled Hugh Hefner or the actor who played "James At 15" and that just pisses me off more when I think about that incredibly annoying series but I remember another series from that time period so suddenly find myself wondering if the totally hot Katie Saylor who played on "The Fantastic Journey" was murdered and her body disposed of since no one can fucking find her, then I think about the the kid from "Escape to Witch Mountain" who also played on "The Fantastic Journey" and how he looked like a really friendly beaver and suddenly I realize I hate Coast to Coast AM and thank God Tim Dorsey's new book "Electric Barracuda" is coming out this week .... and you should buy it after you buy his other twelve that lead up to this one.

That is all.

P.S.

Godlike Productions creates low pressure areas around immense verdigris mule phalluses.

Exclaiming on how "investors" can buy as few as "just one gold coin" from Lear Capital as part of some kind of investment strategy is irresponsible bullshit pandering to a desperate audience. It's a good idea for Lear if thousands of C2C listeners buy a few coins, but not for the buyers.

The typical caller asking for financial advice from a guest on C2C doesn't have the necessary funds to buy enough gold (be it coins, gold stocks, or shares in mining) to make much of a difference in a long term investment plan.

If they DO have significant resources, they need to find a good financial adviser. That was something Meyer said with which I agree, but his constant pushing of precious metals contradicts his observation of how FLAT the income of American workers has remained (since the 1970s) if inflation is computed. 

So he should know most families can't afford to invest significantly in precious metals as they continue to live check to check and go further into credit card debt.

I won't comment at length on Noory's typical Jackass Behavior that laced the interview, or his amazing lack of rudimentary mathematical abilities.

In general, I found Noory fucking irritating but at the expected levels of repulsion.

Meanwhile, check out this cool site that sells waterproof paper notepads, notebooks, journals, etc. It's an amazing product for all weather conditions, desert warfare, and rain forest excursions.

Rite in the Rain paper is also excellent while spelunking in ridiculously wet conditions that would  kill an Otterbox Defender encased iPad.

An excellent Saint Valentine's Day gift for the nerd in your life. Trust me:

http://www.riteintherain.com/

After perusing Starfire Tor's website - taking note of the (female?) warrior mounted on a winged horse, lurching above a twinkling starry background - I fetched my Advanced Dungeons & Dragons dice and feel I am now ready to listen to tonight's show.

http://www.starfiretor.com/MainTableOfContents.htm

As a frustrated would be writer for David Letterman, here are my top ten reactions after seeing the Mel Gibson trailer for "The Beaver."

Number :

10. Look at the funny little furry creature.  Oh, and there's a puppet in the movie, too.

9. Obviously, there will be  a sequel.

8. I'm just grateful Mel didn't have his hand up inside Justin Bieber.

7. I have an iphone app that features a talking beaver. It's absolutely nothing like this.

6. New hit Christmas toy.

5. Didn't they eat beavers in Mad Max?  Wait.  No. That was Alien Nation.

4. Michael Vic is back in the news. This time, he was found training killer beavers for illegal fighting. Vic blames his relapse on the recent Mel Gibson movie. "When I saw that beaver puppet, I jus' had this uncontrollable urge to kill again."

3. A scuffle broke out on the old set of Peppermint Place as Gibson's beaver puppet fought with a gopher puppet known as Muffin. "Muffin's a *%$#@&! Jew!" the actor reportedly said via the beaver puppet. Puppeteer Howard "Muffin" Muffelstein was treated for minor injuries at the ER and released. Mr. Peppermint suffered deep inside. Mr. Wiggly's still pretty happy.

(But isn't Mr. Wiggly always happy?)

2. I'm supporting this movie - not because of Mel Gibson, not because of Jodie Foster - but to support lesbian beaver everywhere.

1. The Jews may have killed Christ, but Mel Gibson killed puppetry. I guess it's all even now. Christ came back. Puppetry never will.

Bonuses:

A) Hey!  Oprah should use a puppet in her interviews.
B) It would be a lot funnier if Arnold Schwarzenegger played Mel's part.
C) We may have to get Hannibal Lecter after this puppet. I think Miss Foster can "make it happen."
D) This is creepier than that guy with the "Madam" puppet.
E) This just might fool that jerk Eddie Haskell.

THE BEAVER Trailer:



THE BEAVER - Trailer

Interviewing R. Gary Patterson to expound on the full impact the digital culture is having on the evolving music industry/artist is similar to having Capt Kelly Sweeney (Ahoy, George!) provide updates on the BP oil blowout.

(shudder)

A little note to my partners in crime here who remember me:

We all must stand together now
Or one by one we fall
For all these years you've stood by me
God bless
I love you all


(stolen from O.zzy T.he O.sbourne, but the sentiment fits . . )

Happy Thanksgiving, you bastards.
I must away to search for dark matter.

Be they actors, soldiers, writers, scientists, athletes, or leaders of the Fraternal Order of Eagles, Aerie No. 3108.

Your dependable source for news from the future - covering the arts, entertainment, politics, religion, celebrities, science, and more.

First up:

This just in from November 13, 2009:


Physicists at CERN released a formal announcement of "group depression" early this Friday the 13th.   

This comes in the wake of last week's announcement that the Large Hadron Collider has turned out to be a medium at best and possibly even a small.

"Blast those supersizing Chinese!" exclaimed physicist Ron Cumbystein.  "I'm sick of all the competition!  It makes my ass experience magnetic quench!  It truly does!"

"He's just stressed out.  We all are," said another physicist who preferred to remain anonymous.  Side effects of the stress are manifesting in strange ways at CERN: "Yesterday someone disassembled the microwave in the breakroom.  The frustration has to come out in some manner.  It's hitting us all pretty hard."

Nerves in the scientific community were already raw from last month's revelation that China plans a manned mission to land on the moon in 2010, several years ahead of schedule.  Then last week came the news that China has been in the process of secretly building their own giant collider for the last seven years. 

China had no comment other than providing a photo of the secretive man they claim is behind the construction of this truly large and mysterious particle collider.

"On September 18, 2008, Pat O'Brien was officially fired from The Insider for writing a controversial e-mail to co-workers which insulted Lara Spencer, his replacement as anchor."

--------

I've waited for this day.  Pat O'Brien's demise is integral to my plans for worldwide domination. I've never understood his longevity in the field.  I'm not that fond of Lara, but at least she doesn't look like a walking advertisement for how to make your receding hairline look like a boar caught in the door jamb - rather, she's more like a slut caught in the transom.

Once we shoot that tart Leeza Gibbons into the sun, I am confident the planet will begin to correct itself into a more Camazotzian spin.  Old wounds, Leeza and I.

Many are on the chopping block: companies, celebs, family members ... a particularly truculent canine and his bitch of an owner.

If I have to, I'll melt down the entire American economy to GET them all!  You shall see.  It is already in the wyrks.

Watch your back FedEx!   Are you listening Starbucks?!   Can you not see the handwriting on the wall, you blue polo shirt infested Blockbuster?!

You will rue the day you crossed me.

Rue it, I say!

You really believe you are invincible? So did Sharper Image, who closed all of their stores in bankruptcy, leaving hundreds of thousands of men stuck with mechanical tie selectors, Fog Free shower mirrors, and crippled Robosapiens squirming on their backs in the closet like Kafkaesque beetles next to their owner's Bass Pro Shop waders. 

Who do you think first pushed Consumer Reports Magazine to test Sharper Image's Ionic Breeze? Hmmmmm?  You're looking at him, you bloated excuses for customer service.

The company was snatched up at auction and supposedly the company name will thrive online - however, one peek at www.sharperimage.com reveals the truth.

I believe Mr. O'Brien was one of Sharper Image's biggest customers!

(Depart now to Hollywood's equivalent of Davy Jones's Locker, Mr. O'Brien.  Tell James Franciscus, Stewie says "hey."  I always did love JF.  Oh, I know! When you get down there, look around and say... say.... "My GOD, they're APES! " and then look completely horrified.  Come on, do it.  What do you have to lose?  I mean, you've lost everything already.  I'm just saying, Pat.  Just saying.)

P.S. Take note: Those who wyrk at The Container Store are not immune to my wrath! Such bumbling anal retentive boxoholics with their overpriced framework cabinents and military goosestepping tactics!  Get a real job!

Okay, this is me walkin' out the door, Cyclotron Knight rescuing a damsel (and her cat) in distress ? said damsel's dragon-scorched castle standing sentinel down on the precarious Texas coast. 

Everyone play nice while I'm gone.  What the hell.  Play mean.  Watch out for EvB's cattle prod.

Tunes for the road: Johnny Cash, Danzig, Iron Maiden, Led Zep, Ozzy, Sabbath, Dio, Megadeth, ELO, John Denver, WASP, Lustmord, Neil Young, & and the ever trusty weather radio.

(Battening down the hatches.)

Laterzzzzzzzzzz??


Life is short.  Death is longer.
- Camazotz Automat, Over and Out


Bonus:

A stretch of Star Trek script just for grins that has always meant much to me and somehow sets the tone for the road trip in light of IKE.  Captain Kirk is addressing a bearded Mr. Spock in a parallel universe:

Kirk: You're a man of integrity in both universes, Mr. Spock.

Spock: You must return to your universe, I must have my captain back. I shall operate the transporter, you have two minutes and ten seconds.

Kirk: For that time, I have something to say. How long before the Halkan prediction of galactic revolt is realized?

Spock: Approximately two hundred forty years.

Kirk: The inevitable outcome?

Spock: The Empire shall be overthrown, of course.

Kirk: The illogic of waste, Mr. Spock. Of material, resources, time. I submit to you that your empire is illogical because it cannot endure, I submit that you are illogical to be a willing part of it.

Spock: You have one minute and twenty-three seconds.

Kirk:  If change is inevitable, predictable, beneficial, doesn't logic demand that you be a part of it?

Spock: One man cannot summon the future.

Kirk: But one man can change the present, be the captain of this Enterprise, Mr. Spock. Find a logical reason for sparing the Halkans and make it stick, push till it gives! You can defend yourself better than any man in the fleet.

Scotty: Captain, get in the chamber!

Kirk: What about it, Spock?

Spock: A man must also have the power.

Kirk: In my cabin, there's a device that will make you invincible.

Spock: Indeed?

Kirk: What will it be, past or future? Tyranny or freedom? It's up to you.

Spock: It is time.

Kirk: In every revolution, there's one man with a vision.

Spock:  Captain Kirk, I shall consider it.

From Star Trek episode "Mirror, Mirror" - October 6, 1967

Frozen, canned, or dry.  You might not be the original owner.  It may be heirloom food passed down to you from Aunt Beatrice or a lucky Can O' Beans from a Tom Robbins novel.

The container of Tony Chachere's Creole Seasoning was part of the collateral assets I gained from a break up. It is approximately 1/3 full.

On the back, is the copyright of 1978.  I should throw it away... 

I think I will just stick it back in the pantry. 

It has moved with me several times. 

Singing in the voice of Johnny Cash:


So sprinkle me with creole seasoning,
Before you close the coffin lid,
This green cannister never betrayed me,
Like my former ladyfriend did,
When the preacher talks about dust to dust,
Speaks of how I tragically died,
Tell him it's not dust, but garlic, pepper,
Salt and silicone dioxide.

chorus:
When it was finally over...
And I was buried in the Winter ...
The Great Beyond showed me the way.

I'm hanging out with old Rover ...
And I'm singing with John Denver ...
We're cooking crawfish ?touff?e.

In a surprise leak to the media this afternoon, John McCain has chosen the Avian Flu as his running mate.

Things are looking beak.


CAMAZOTZ  AUTOMAT