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Kevin for Veep!

I don’t wish to intrude, but with so many highly-placed Republican vice presidential hopefuls trekking to New York to kiss Trump’s ring, I felt compelled by the Veepstakes to do even more: Now with Trump’s head on the chopping block in the Stormy Daniels trial, I too traveled to New York, but to kiss his ass.

Not wanting to arrive empty-handed, I watched as many of Stormy Daniels’ 169 videos as my eyes tolerated, read six books about the Trump presidency, immersed myself in the scandal magazine industry, perused the archives of several TV networks in New York and Hollywood, worked with U.S. government archivists to unearth as many related documents as possible, examined photographs, read seven scholarly papers, spoke with three historians who told me the court proceedings were a storm in a teacup, interviewed several lawyers who told me not to quit my day job, conversed with a half dozen dudes at federal prisons serving time for the January 6 insurrection, visited two museums and discussed family history over Zoom with purported Trump relatives at scraggly vineyards in southern Germany. Maybe they were bona fide relatives, maybe not. It’s always maddeningly difficult to nail down Trump connections to the Old Country.

I even consummated two trysts with sweet Black professional ladies from “the block,” Balto’s Red Light District, since extramarital sex appears germane to Trump’s case.

Since the journey is half the experience and ’tis better to travel hopefully than to arrive, I took a Zero Bus from Balto’s dilapidated Chinatown full of Ethiopian immigrants to Chinatown in NYC. Not surprisingly, seats on the bus were occupied primarily by Asians: Chinese, Koreans, Filipinos, Japanese and Chegroes. Sitting next to a pretty, 26-year-old Taiwanese, I considered myself lucky and spoke in a clucking English patois as close to Hong Kong dialect as I could muster. “Stop that,” she said. “Just talk ordinary English!” The damsel was not impressed. As the bus pulled into Chinatown in Philadelphia to disgorge and pick up passengers, I took advantage of the 15-minute layover to sprint across the street and grab dim sum take-out. Delicious!

Arriving in NYC, springtime in the air, I walked the 10 minutes from Chinatown to the Manhattan Criminal Court building at 100 Centre Street. Once on-site, I wasted no time in banging the drum for Trump:

“Trump who’s accused is not amused by being abused!

He’s got the Mar-a-Lago blues,”

I sang, loud enough to draw attention to myself but not loud enough to get arrested.

“Name’s Kevin Feingold. Can I become Vice President now?” I asked representatives of various news media. Dressed in my best dark blue suit and a red, white and blue striped tie, I also sported red socks imprinted with a black hammer and sickle, a left-over from the British rock scene of the 1980’s. I felt insanely envious of the broadcasters with their perfect hair and pearly white veneers. The networks’ assembled gear had converted Collect Pond Park across the street from the courthouse into a veritable Mars-scape of satellite dishes and high tech paraphernalia.

One-time presidential contender Vivek Ramaswamy stood in the park, claiming the trial was an attempt to derail Trump’s reelection campaign. “Straight out of a Kafka novel,” Vivek complained. Meanwhile, I got a guard to let me in a side door of the courthouse to use the men’s room.   

In the hallway outside the courtroom, after a fusillade of invective from Trump himself, House Speaker Mike Johnson called the trial ­a shame, a travesty and a partisan witch hunt. Other notables supporting Trump in a clump were North Dakota Governor Doug Burgum and U.S. Congressmen Byron Donalds and Cory Mills, the latter two from Florida. “It is sad that we’re here today and not out talking to the American people,” declared Burgum.

“Who’s stopping you?” I wondered, at which point I myself went back outside and spoke to the American people.

“People will little note nor long remember what I say here today,” I intoned. Aiming for ABC, CBS, MSNBC, CNN or at worst Fox News, I ended up facing the single camera of the West Piedmont Intelligencer YouTube channel. I understand that they specialize in cooking tips: recipes for apple butter, corn grits, cooked possum and the like. Makes my mouth water just writing about it.

“We need a strong leader to get through these troubled times,” I declared. “That strong leader needs a strong right hand. I will be that strong leader’s strong right-hand man.

“Why listen to Senators Tommy Tuberville and J.D. Vance? Why listen to Representatives Andy Biggs and Eli Crane of Arizona, Lauren Boebert from Colorado, Matt Gaetz and Anna Paulina Luna of Florida, Nicole Malliotakis from New York, Bob Good of Virginia and all those other groveling Trump sycophants when you can listen to my groveling instead? They have all made the trek here to New York, their pilgrimage to Mecca, but my pandering is at least as sincere as their pandering. Mine is U.S. Grade A groveling. The groveling that can Make This Country Great Again!

“When you say ‘America First,’ I say ‘Yes! First in Thirst, Leader of the Free World in carbonated beverages!’

“Thinking back to Afghanistan, to Iraq, to Mogadishu, to Grenada, to Lebanon, Vietnam, Korea, the Eastern Front, the Western Front, the beaches of Normandy, the Battle of Verdun, the Halls of Montezuma and the shores of Tripoli, I say ‘Honor our fallen martyrs! Honor the living as well as the dead.’ If elected, I will impose a high tariff on the import of tea cozies from Muslim countries. Let America find and fund its tea cozies locally, as we always have done, since the time of the Boston Tea Party.

“The libs may find me P.U., Politically Uncorrect, but I am proudly hetero. I like young girls! I like everybody else, too. Doesn’t mean I want to shag everything that moves. When I take stock of our country, our natural heritage, I want to admit more beautiful immigrant women to our shores, not less. Where is the ‘Erica’ in America? I wear my cred as a male chauvinist pig with pride: From mulatto matrons’ majesty to the fruitfully plain, I find all these women beautiful. Just beautiful. They are energizing the lifeblood of our country. We’re a beautiful country. Just beautiful. GAMA! Get America More Amazons!   

“Currently, I am gathering signatures to appear on the ballot in Maryland and Virginia. This is my two-state solution. Jihadists have got me on the run! To prove my bona fides, I have hired Mustafa al-Salim as a political adviser. Mustafa has not a single good word to say about Israel. Left-wing radicals need to take a sabbatical. Visit the encampments on our college campuses and you’ll see that all of life has become a comic book. Identity fanaticism is our way of life. Each of us is an action hero starring in a movie inside our own heads. Damn the bangalore torpedoes, full speed ahead!  

“It is time to deify the downtrodden hamburger. We Trumpists wear our victimhood on our sleeves. Witch hunt! Rigged elections! We seek humanitarian aid. We demand social justice for the martyrs of January 6th! I won’t shoot your dog or your goat— or even your mother-in-law on Fifth Avenue. But as Vice President, I am offering to plant swastika-shaped flower beds on the White House lawn and declare the resurrection of the 4th Reich. Long live Trump!”

Watching the videographer worriedly pack up his equipment and scurry away, I asked myself if it was something I said. Casting my eyes upon the multitudes, I didn’t see squat. Trolls we have, but where were the needy Palestinians now that I really needed them to fill out the frame?      

“Wanna party?” a raven-haired young lady in incredibly provocative brown leather thigh boots, a pink miniskirt, a white blouse and black leather jacket asked me, eyes flashing jovially. I think she applied her eyeliner with a spatula.

“Uh, I’m here running for a political party,” I stammered, feeling my face go beet red. “Republican Party. Legacy stuff,” I babbled.

“We can have a party of our own,” she giggled, her tiny white teeth peeking from between her ruby red lips.

Me like. You come to New York City, you gonna see the sights. Grabbing a cab, we proceeded to a cheap dive in the Bowery and did further research.   

Returning to the courthouse, I got back just in time to watch Michael Cohen, after his day’s testimony, get escorted to a black, armor-plated sedan by federal marshals.

I spent 20 minutes handing out campaign buttons. My slogan:

Find Gold with Feingold in 2024!

While in da city, I intended to plumb the law books in the library at Columbia, but I got chased off campus by angry anti-Israel demonstrators who mistook me for an Israeli spy. These things happen. I’m Jewish.

Instead, walking the High Line in the early evening, I got waylaid by a lady sitting on a bench with a tan Pekingese. Wrapped in a black leather trench coat that looked too warm for the season, she was an eyeful. Her fluffy dog had a flat face and the personality of a lion. I thought he was going to gnaw my leg off. “Don’t you like dogs?” she asked in a deep voice.

“I like you!” I joked.

“Fuhgeddaboudit!” she exclaimed, making room for me on the bench.

Her name was Suzanne. Long story short, after accompanying Bog the Dog back to her apartment and ordering Chinese take-out, we spent the evening listening to Arab pop music and watching YouTube on her wide-screen TV. Mostly “Boots on the Ground” pro-Israeli reports from Gaza. A secretary, when I told her about my vice presidential aspirations, she laughed and said, “If you try to grab me by the pussy, I’m gonna knee you in the balls!”

Wow! My kind of woman. I stayed over and, despite my forebodings, ended up with a friend in NYC.

Failing to make a dent with the Trump people, I was going to try to be Dr. Jill Stein’s vice presidential running mate in the Green Party, but I suspect that the war in Gaza pits me far outside the pale of Green Party orthodoxy.

My younger brother Tim thinks I am a libertarian, even if I don’t yet know it.

We all face our trials, even Donald Trump.

[ This interim report constitutes a single chapter in a book-length project. ]

Three cheers for the pro-Palestinian protesters occupying college campuses all across the United States! No one is as well-informed and well-meaning as they. You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs and today’s young people on college campuses are angry for change.

It all feels a little unreal. Cultural appropriation at maximum level, these are white people and blacks parading as Palestinians. They don’t speak Arabic. Squatters, their plastic tents look nothing like the refugee camps in Gaza. Masks on their faces, their heads are wrapped in black and white checkered head scarves, even if no one has taught them how to properly fold and wear a keffiyeh.   

The Fédération Internationale d’Occupation gives each encampment a G-rating, starting with lowest-ranked “Meh” and ascending to award-winning “Holy Shit!” Columbia, for example, came in at a penultimate top rating of “Oh, Wow!” Criteria include speed of erecting encampment, use of plywood barriers, contents of arsenal, toilet facilities, chants, media contact, number of arrests and the overall size and cleanliness of the site. While sheer size is the major determinate— bigger is always better— chanted slogans, handling of the media and the number of arrests can have a direct impact on the final decision to award a particular rating. So far, there have been more than 2,500 arrests made at 60 different universities and colleges. UVa has a somewhat boring encampment, but with the arrest of 25 students, it still garnered an “Oh, Wow!” rating based mostly on past performance.

Competition is fierce, especially among top tier universities.

Thanks to the ubiquity of social media, encampments are instantly aware of changes made at other locations across the country. When Columbia saw violent clashes at UCLA grabbing media attention, the protesters in New York decided to regain supremacy by occupying Hamilton Hall, a campus building. As in chess, each player tries to outfox their competitors with tricky tactics and new slogans. Palestinian students have the added incentive of protesting the hellscape in Gaza.          

That the protesters’ primary focus is the carnage in Gaza is a typically false narrative used as a smokescreen to hide their true intent, which is the eradication of Jews and the overthrow of the Judeo-Christian tradition in the West, in favor of an Islamic caliphate. It makes sense that they harbor an authority complex: These young activists will be saddled with the mess left over from the missteps of current governments all over the globe. Student activists in the 1960’s shouted “Burn it all down!” Today’s vanguard chants “Globalize the Intifada,” which is basically the same thing, a fiery resistance movement for whom the only acceptable outcome is the total destruction of the existing power structure worldwide.

Is that all?    

No one has any right to criticize these young freedom-fighters. Their grievances are real: A $60,000-a-year college tuition is no joke.

It’s a little hard to speak out against the student activists when their teachers and the mainstream media egg them on. In what may be a first, the teachers and faculty of Manhattan’s New School, thinking outside the box, have set up an anti-Israel encampment inside a campus building. Six nylon tents in a row in assorted colors, it looks like an art installation. Rating: Meh.

When they chant “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!” the protesters are, of course, referring to the River Nile and the Red Sea. Voracious, militant and long-suffering, the Gazans want to be the canary who swallowed the cat: Skipping the arid Sinai Peninsula entirely, they want to appropriate Sahara el Sharqîya, the entire eastern seaboard of Egypt, with Luxor as their capital. Tricky.

No friend of Israel, Ethiopia recognized Palestine on February 4, 1989.

The Palestinians in Gaza are only too glad to get the support of college students everywhere. As they say in Sweden, “I’m not antisemitic, I’m pro-Palestinian.”  

The pro-Palestinian activists on our college campuses are learning important life lessons like how to spit on Jews, kick Jewish students, diss the media, occupy buildings and trash libraries. While the unenlightened bourgeoisie among today’s students focus on final exams, graduation ceremonies and securing summer internships, the pro-Palestinian protesters gird for a major disruption of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in August. Chicago, of all places! Google “1968 democratic convention protests” to see history repeat itself.

At both California’s Occidental College and Pomona College, Jewish and Israeli students have been verbally harassed, physically surrounded, followed, threatened and intimidated by protestors, who have shouted “Go back to the gas chambers!” “Kike!” “Fucking Jew!” “Fucking Zionist!” and “Murderer!”

Extra points for the protestor who gave a Hitler salute in front of Jewish students during a demonstration at the University of Wisconsin in Madison. While not a new phenomenon, it shows that some demonstrators know their history. Signage at DePaul University in Chicago includes the gem “Netanyahu is a modern day Hitler and Biden is his b****.” Someone is a poli sci major! Kudos.   

The fun isn’t limited to colleges, as big brother’s and big sister’s activism gets copied at the high school level. A pro-Palestinian riot took place at Hillcrest High School in New York. A Jewish teacher was the victim of a targeted attack at a school in Sheepshead Bay. The New York City school district has suspended 30 students for “unacceptable acts of antisemitism” and a dozen staffers have been disciplined.

Guilty secret, I too have been a demonstrator! When coffee pods caught on in 2004, I spent my Saturdays and Sundays at the local supermarket, demonstrating pod-based coffee makers. Takes one to know one!   

Overworked and looking at video footage, I am forced to ask: Don’t these young people have anything better to do all afternoon than sit among their tents on the quad popping speed and toking marijuana? To deny rampant drug use among these pot heads is another false narrative.

Considering that 99% of the demonstrators have never set foot in Gaza, that doesn’t stop them from being thoroughly convinced of the infallibility of their opinions. They feel strongly. They share the conviction that Third World people are suffering. They envision a “Free Palestine”— with no Jews and no Israel. Despite the murder, rape, torture, dismemberment, burning, pillage and hostage-taking carried out by Gaza militants on October 7, these students from the American middle class see Israel as the aggressor! “What about the 13,000 (or 30,000 or whatever fantasy figure the Health Ministry in Hamas-run Gaza comes up with) Palestinian dead?” they complain. Never having served in the military or experienced combat, these youngsters do not understand that war is hell and that there are casualties. It’s 5,675 miles from Columbia University to Gaza City. It’s 7,584 miles from UCLA to Khan Yunis. These protesters should hop a plane, go there and see for themselves. Instead, they occupy their college campuses and they riot. They don’t know what they are talking about.

Even ignoring Arabs’ long history of difficulty dealing with the truth, the Gazan Health Ministry’s outlandish claim of 30,000-plus deaths is a crock of shit. It never happened. Here is your false narrative exposed to the light of reason: Step back a second and look critically at this Big Lie. Thirty thousand dead bodies don’t disappear like a wisp of smoke. Where are they?! That many dead would be stacked like cord wood. There would be endless photographs and video, just like in the concentration camps after the Holocaust. We’re TOLD that they were stacked in the corridors of Al-Shifa Hospital, but the rest is a pipe dream. It wouldn’t matter that the Palestinians exaggerate, but all these marching young people protesting on college campuses complain of the disproportionate casualty rates, when it simply is not true. There aren’t even any lists with the names of the deceased. No bodies, no photographs, no names, just an empty claim. Shame on you, Gazans, for being liars. Congratulations on harnessing this worthless claim and turning it into golden propaganda!

When the protestors claim that Jews are “white colonizers” of Palestine, they’re full of bilge. Colonizers, colonizers, more than two thirds of Israel’s 9.2 million citizens are people of color from lands across the Middle East, Europe and Africa. Mizrahi from Arabia, Sephardi from Spain and Portugal, black Jews from Ethiopia.

Anyone accusing the Israelis of genocide shows their unfamiliarity with urban warfare. Genocide is the extermination of a people, something which the Israelis have gone to great lengths to avoid. Genocide is the Nazi war machine systematically killing 6 million Jews during World War Two, the Turks wiping out Armenians in 1915, Hutu militias murdering the Tutsi in 1994 during the Rwanda Civil War. Yes, the Israeli war effort has caused a mass migration in Gaza; the majority of the population has been displaced. But no one is carpet bombing their tent cities, no one is strafing civilian population on the roads. It is the Israelis who use roof-knocking bombs, noisemakers that land on the roof of an apartment house, warning the residents that they have only minutes to evacuate before the building is bombed. The IDF’s war is with Hamas, not the civilian population of Gaza. The Israelis warn the civilian population in advance before carrying out military operations. They do what they can to avoid civilian casualties. Yes, shit happens. Seven members of José Andrés’ World Central Kitchen were killed in a night airstrike. Accidents are no proof of genocide.           

While the encampments on college campuses are full of hot air, the effects of global warming cannot be entirely ignored. Intermittent flooding has been reported in some areas.

Young militants claim their revolution is led by angry out-groups, but if you want to know who is behind these protests, follow the money trail: SimSalaBim Palestinian Flag Co. of Qatar, Keffiyeh Looms, Inc., Americana Tent Company, Apex Mask Apparel and Luxe Megaphones. “Kapitalismus über alles,” as Karl Marx would say.

The liberal left-wing media is appalled that police have used riot gear, tactical vehicles and flash-bang devices to clear tent encampments and school buildings occupied by the activists. What happened to freedom, equality, human rights, social progress, justice reform and international solidarity? These virtues must not be impeded, just because some anti-Israel demonstrators are disrupting campus life, threatening fellow students, painting swastikas on the doors to the dorm rooms of Jews and tramping on the Israeli flag in public. Where is police solidarity with the working class? Long live Yasser Arafat, who popularized the black-and-white checkered keffiyeh headscarf!

[ A separate chapter will deal with American mainstream media’s narrative about the poor little Palestinians getting beaten up by the big bad Jews. Palestinians are murdering rapists. That sad history will also be covered in a separate chapter. ]

An unexpected occurrence in New York City and Portland, Oregon is the influx of homeless people onto college campuses. Taking advantage of a fluid situation, they erect their own tents among those of the protestors. To the students’ credit, they shrug off these interlopers as meaningless excess baggage and unimportant to the Palestinian cause. One direct result of this occupation within the occupation has been that the number of actual students arrested on campus is constantly only a fraction of the total number of persons incarcerated.

Playtime in a sandbox, filled with self-importance, these kids are having a blast, giving the bird to the authorities. Often, their demands include that all disciplinary action against demonstrators be expunged from their university transcripts. 

Enduring such protests, the question every university administration must ask itself is this: Is it better to expel 150 Palestinian exchange students and take back the campus or should they cave to the pressure of left-wing institutions and the media, letting the occupiers call the shots? Who are the grown-ups in the room and who is the 800 lb. gorilla?

Dr. Jill Stein, presidential candidate for the Green Party, announced on X on April 27 that she, her campaign manager and her deputy campaign manager were among 100 people arrested while trying to set up an encampment at Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri. It will be interesting to see how presidential candidates use the continuing turmoil to their advantage during the upcoming campaign season. If Dr. Stein manages to monopolize the Muslim vote, she could well siphon off support that Biden desperately needs to get re-elected.

The good news is that even arrested demonstrators from encampments with a low rating of “Meh” have been invited to visit Congress by House of Representative members Rashida Tlaib of Michigan and Cori Bush of Missouri. “Those who refuse to stop the genocide in Gaza think they can arrest and brutalize their way out of this,” said Bush at a news conference on the steps of the Capitol with five of the students who had been arrested. Afterwards, a young man with long brown hair, a bush hat, extensive piercings and dressed in baggy jeans paraded in front of the Capitol chanting “Go back to Poland!” and waving a sign saying “END the WAR in VIET NAM.”

Looking abroad, we see that the coastal town of Malmö in southern Sweden is hosting the 68th edition of the Eurovision Song Contest. Under Palestinian flags and the banner NEJ TILL FOLKMORD (“No to Genocide”), 12,000 protesters marched on May10th to the concert venue at Malmö Arena in the center of the city. Among the protestors was climate activist Greta Thunberg. Accusing Eurovision of allowing Israel to “artwash” its image, fans and musicians have called for Israel to be banned from the contest. More protests are expected as the contest finals approach. The Swedes are hosting because they won last year. Around 180 million people all over Europe and Asia will watch the grand finale live on TV. Claiming to be politically neutral, politics has always lurked under the surface of Eurovision. In 2022, Ukraine won with the heart-breaking anti-invasion rap song “Stefania,” while Russia was banned from the proceedings. This year, Israel’s entry in the song competition is called “Hurricane,” based on the October 7 attack. The protesters ask why the West cares so deeply about Ukrainians but not Palestinians. Maybe because the Ukrainians aren’t murdering rapists. The choices life gives us are seldom easy. Queers for Palestine have called on Britain’s entry to boycott the event.

Paris, France is such a disappointment. Tent villages spread around the city are full of migrant workers from Africa and Asia seeking asylum and employment, yet few of them are willing to risk deportation by joining the students in front of Sciences Po University to protest la guerre en Gaza.

Mountaineers huddle inside their yellow, single-walled tents pitched on the South face of Mt. Everest. They act as if Gaza is three thousand miles away. Which it is.    

Meanwhile, on the ground in Gaza, Israel is forced to invade Rafah to ferret out and destroy the underground leadership of Hamas. With Hamas’ threat of continuous repetitions of the October 7th terrorist attack, anything less is untenable. Once Hamas is defeated, the Israelis and Gazans will return to an uneasy co-existence, rebuilding the Gaza Strip amongst the wreckage, this time without tunnels and rockets.      

The first six letters of “demonstrators” spell “demons.” The lasting damage is that by their actions, these pro-Palestinian demonstrators are ushering in the quick and easy re-election of Donald Trump.

To claim anything less is a false narrative.

Worry Wart

Sweden’s rap duo realPfft churns out another hit!

Poetry for grown-ups, “Worry Wart” marries soul music with comic memories, before relentlessly veering into current events.

If you like playlists and similar tunes, Worry Wart’s genres are Philly Soul, Amapiano and Lo-Fi Hip Hop. Finally, some interesting genres!

A reaction to the dramatic female singers currently dominating the charts, at 72 BPM, the track features a calm male vocal and his peppy girlfriend. Who finishes his sentences.

A throwback to Ed Ames’s “Who Will Answer?” and Johnny Sea’s “Day for Decision,” the track fills a void in today’s pop music scene. Or maybe that’s aiming a little high.

 

My Broken Tooth

Music maestro Mutte Fjutt in Uppsala, Sweden and punk rocker Clive Flatenbad—a k a rap duo realPfft— continue their odyssey through the world of AI-generated sights and sounds.  

Mutte accessed the Suno music app at Microsoft Copilot, using the prompt: “Create a song about a broken tooth.” AI generated a complete track— music, lyrics and singing voice— even if the music was fuzzy, the vocal only 37 seconds long and the singer forgot some of the lyrics. Mutte deconstructed the music and re-recorded it, adding flourishes, solos and final mix.   

Graphic artist Kuny used Bing Image Creator DALL-E for the artwork. Prompt: “Show a handsome man and woman kissing.” AI rules!

Since March 2018, Mutte and Clive have been grinding out their quirky version of hit music. They started their collaboration doing political satire and have branched out from there into rap, hip hop, rock, pop, R&B, soul, jazz, bebop, K-pop and whatever else tickles their funny bone. “Everything we do is comedy,” insists Clive.

Sweden is joining NATO (my old stomping ground), Donald Trump is up for re-election, there’s heartache in Ukraine and headache in Gaza. Extreme weather plagues the planet and mass extinction looms on the horizon. Rarely have we been more in need of a laugh. Love that funky music!

Kev

My Broken Tooth

It tasted blood on my tongue

When our lips collided, something came undone

A rush of pain, a moment’s hesitation

But I couldn’t resist the thrill of your sensation (ooh-yeah)

You left a piece of you in my broken tooth

A bittersweet reminder of our reckless youth

Every time I smile, I’m reminded of the past

But I wouldn’t change a thing, those memories last (yeah-yeah-yeah)

Classic

Taking his inspiration from Mason Williams’ April 1968 hit song “Classical Gas,” Mutte Fjutt in the Swedish rap duo realPfft has created his own symphonic pop instrumental. It’s a classic.

In 1967, the same Mason Williams created an art installation titled “Bus.” A life-size color photograph of a Greyhound bus in 1:1 scale, this unusually large poster mural measures 10 feet by 36 feet. It consists of 16 sheets of silkscreened billboard paper which three people taped together using double-sided Scotch tape. Williams said it took nine man-hours to tape together each copy. Produced in a numbered, limited edition of 200, each one sold in a specially designed and printed cardboard box.

In celebration of Williams’ concrete art, Kuny, who does realPfft’s cover art, designed, photographed and labeled his “Classic” box, as seen above. Dimensions: 4 inches in height by 5 ½ inches wide by 3 ½ inches deep. Signed prints are available.

   

Moosehunting in England

When performer Clive Flatenbad in the Swedish rap duo realPfft is at his most unproductive, the musical maestro in Mutte Fjutt steps forward, creating bright and exciting instrumental compositions like this one that play repeatedly inside your head. Thank God for Mutte! “Moosehunting in England” is a joke title, consciously inappropriate since the moose in England died out 8,000 years ago.

A.I. rules! Musical maestro Mutte Fjutt in Uppsala, Sweden has composed his third A.I. hit in a row: First came “Turing Test?”, then “I skogens dunkla famn” and now “Tik Tok Girls.”

The A.I.-generated song lyrics were created by ChatGPT using the prompt “Write a song about Tik Tok Girls.” Having grown up with the Swedish equivalent of Top 40 radio, the boys are no strangers to cheesy lyrics.   

The song voice and cadence in “Tik Tok Girls” came from the text-to-speech platform TTS Free.

The A.I. cover art of a glamorous young lady was created by Fotor from the prompt “Smartphone with a girl on the screen.”

The melody and musical arrangement are by Mutte & Clive in realPfft, of course. Hooray for humans, wherever we may be hiding.  

Hell hath no fury like an elusive song title. The meta data at the music distributor did not recognize the words Tik Tok as part of the English language!

Mutte & Clive informed the distributor that “Tik Tok girls” is a description, like Swifties, YouTubers, soccer moms and boomer dads. Tik Tok describes a particular type of young lady— exuberant and extroverted, showing off her talent on social media.

There is no law which allows anyone to copyright a song title. When I searched for “Tik Tok Girls” on Spotify, I found three other artists who had already used this identical title: Brent Havard, Koron Don and Rana Naveed. iTunes even has tracks with the same title by Team Broken Heart and Dj Dozza. So that’s five other artists who have already released tracks using the title “Tik Tok Girls.”

Music loop aficionados, Mutte & Clive have several years’ experience sharing loops that other musicians have also purchased the right to use. Their feeling is: This is not a problem, the more, the merrier. Let listeners create playlists based on similarities in the material.

Unexpected news! The boys have a growing fan base in China and South Korea. “Tik Tok Girls” is their entry into the world of K-pop. Jinjeon! Progress!

Tik Tok Girls

In the realm where seconds dance and whirl

There’s a place called Tik Tok for every boy and girl

Where laughter echoes and joy takes flight

In the glow of screens, day turns into night

Girls, with grace in their every move

They weave tales on Tik Tok, in a digital groove

With eyes that sparkle like stars in the sky

They captivate hearts as time passes by

In a world of filters where dreams take hold

They share their stories both timid and bold

Through dances that echo a rhythmic beat

In every video, they find a seat

With creativity as vast as the endless sea

They paint their passions for all to see

In make-up tutorials and heartfelt songs

They find their voices, where they belong

Tik Tok, a canvas where talent takes flight

Where girls express in the softest light

With courage and strength, they break the mold

In a universe of stories, beautifully told

So here’s to the girls, with dreams so wide

On Tik Tok’s stage, they stand with pride

In the digital universe where they shine bright

Guiding us all through the endless night

Penguin Mania

Yellow sunshine fills the sky. The fall weather is unseasonably warm. It’s early in November and 34 residents of Washington, DC stand on the Observation Tower of Dulles International Airport, waving goodbye to the last of the pandas. Dressed in panda-inspired knitted caps, their hearts are breaking as they press against one another and hold hands, already pining for their missing teddy bears. Frantically loyal, they seriously wonder what will become of the panda habitat so assiduously created at the National Zoo, now that its inhabitants are being repatriated to China.  

They need not worry. Locating an Italian manufacturer of snowmaking equipment in the Tyrol and flying one of its machines across the ocean, within two weeks, the zoo proudly announces that it has been ranked as Number Four worldwide in Emperor Penguin habitat. The future looks icy bright! On the Endangered Species List, classified as Near Threatened, Emperor Penguins’ existence is being propped up by cryogenically archiving penguin DNA as well as having them breed in captivity.

As the first pair of Emperor Penguins arrives from the Antarctic, they are whisked from the airport to the zoo by Constitutional Van Lines LLC, who landed a government contract after proffering the lowest bid to Congress. All well and good, but unfortunately, not everyone gets the memo: A trio of 13-year-old carjackers from Anacostia waylay the red, white and blue Constitutional Van Lines truck and make off with its two avian passengers.

“Who has our penguins and when will we get them back?!” thunders the Style section of The Washington Post.

The penguincam at the National Zoo shows a forlorn image: A state-of-the-art orange snow gun on wheels is parked in the corner of an empty, snow-encrusted enclosure. With neither penguins nor pandas in attendance, only a nest of mice can be seen scurrying about, black squiggles on a white background.

Offering a $10,000 reward, Fiends of the Zoo manages to provide the authorities with the names and addresses of the perpetrators, who have surreptitiously stashed their captives in a refrigerated meat locker at a local grocery store. The boys feed the birds canned sardines and raw Maryland perch.

This trio of miscreants is promptly captured by the police and brought before a judge. Since they are being tried as minors, The Post withholds their names from publication, although this doesn’t stop Antoine, Reggie and Tupac from getting thoroughly doxed online.

Having defecated in every corner of the meat locker, the penguins— nicknamed Lunchcart and Boxcar— seem no worse off for their ordeal. They are transported forthwith to the zoo.

Nothing in the Nation’s Capital, however, goes in quite as straightforward a fashion as one might wish. Thoroughly fed up with the Biden administration’s support of Israel, in December of 2023, Palestinian college students from Gaza— in the U.S. on student visas— tunnel their way into the penguin enclosure and capture Boxcar. Lunchcart escapes getting taken hostage only because he is housed separately and under observation after being inoculated against bird flu.

All over the zoo, Palestinian protesters march in groups, chanting through megaphones “Ha! Ha! Hamas! From the border to the sea, Ha-Ha-Hamas is you and me!” The noise level is deafening. Young girls in traditional checkered black and white kaffiyeh look like the devilish progeny of Yasser Arafat. They hang posters on the wire cages that say “LET GAZA BE FREE AS A BIRD!”

Waving Palestinian flags, they scrawl graffiti on retaining walls. Many of them get arrested and threatened with deportation. Who has raised these radicals? They promise a whole new generation of discord in international politics.

Naturally, this hostage drama garners both headlines and worldwide indignation. It feels as if Berke Breathed’s penguin hero Opus has jumped off the pages of the comic strip Bloom County and is being chased in circles in real life.

“While America considers this to be a case of domestic terrorism,” announces the Secretary-General of the United Nations at a press conference, looking appropriately somber and serious, “the United Nations insists on providing assistance, lest this form of activism become a daily occurrence.”

A special session of the United Nations is called to order to confront the dilemma. The sun is shining on First Avenue in New York City, but it’s cold. “Terrorism is as terrorism does,” insists the American ambassador.

The government of Antarctica would protest the capture of its citizen if Antarctica had a government. Since Antarctica has no government, Israel offers to represent the fauna of the region, claiming preeminence in dealing with Palestinians. “You can count the number of anti-Hamas Gazans on the fingers of one hand,” the Israeli ambassador assures the General Assembly.

After a tumultuous debate that includes a walkout and boycott by the Gulf States, Russia is assigned the responsibility of rescuing the penguin, based on their expertise in back-channel, underhanded double-dealing. Normally, these traits would be frowned upon, but beggars can’t be choosers. “If the Palestinians misbehave, don’t look at us!” swears the Russian ambassador. “Talk to the Iranians. Hamas warriors are clients of Iran.”

Everyone agrees that choosing Russia as negotiator is not a perfect solution, but it’s an acceptable compromise under trying circumstances.

The Russians and the Palestinians meet at the Rosemont Day Spa in the Catskills. Taking the Palestinian negotiators prisoner, the Russians pump sleeping gas into their quarters and storm the building. Using brute force, they rescue Boxcar. Unfortunately, the penguin succumbs to injuries sustained during her liberation.

It is at this point that noted theologian Meyer Bahnhof enters the picture, claiming from Lagos, Portugal that penguins are “the Chosen Ones,” anointed by God. Banned on many social media platforms for his rabidly Zionist outbursts, Bahnhof goes on Reddit and prophesizes a telepathic link between the thought processes of penguins and Artificial Intelligence. When asked, A.I. confirms this hypothesis. “Behold, the Lion of Zion is a penguin!” rants the theologian. “Down with the Philistines. Delilah be damned! Yahweh rules.”

While the whole world seems to be screaming for a ceasefire in the Israel-Gaza war, almost no one is insisting that Russia accept a ceasefire in Ukraine.   

Slowly, methodically, Israel drives the Palestinians of Gaza deep into the Sinai Peninsula. For want of a better solution, the United Nations, the Gulf States, Egypt and the International Court in The Hague spearhead a humanitarian rescue operation which leaves two million Gazans as semi-permanent refugees in Egypt.

“Who needs Gaza?” ask the Israelis, taking a scorched-earth approach to Palestinian intransigence.

Global warming once again grabs the headlines. “We have plenty of water, but it’s in the wrong place,” declares the United Nations, alarmed over melting icecaps and rising sea levels. They decide to seriously curb emissions and combat global warming by the year 2055. As long as it doesn’t cost too much.

Since almost nothing is known about the mating habits of penguins, intensive study, scientific research and public scrutiny are applied to the problem. Eventually, Lunchcart and a newly-arrived female nicknamed Mayfly mate. They have a chick named Lotus Leopard, who grows up to become one of the leaders of the zoo’s Emperor Penguin colony.

Meanwhile, flummoxed by melting sea ice, Emperor Penguins in Antarctica face total extinction by the year 2100.

Mankind soon to follow.

In the Woods Cast in Shadow

For the second time in a row, Sweden’s Mutte Fjutt in the rap band realPfft has used A.I. technology to produce an exemplary track. ChatGPT created the song lyrics. TTS Free, a text-to-speech program, gave us the voice and cadences of cozy Uncle Sven. Cover art by Fotor based on the prompt “A troll walks in the woods.” The trap melody and musical arrangement are, however, created by the boys themselves. Been there, done that, with great success. Swedes, they wanted to try out Artificial Intelligence in Swedish. Here’s an English translation of ChatGPT’s slightly cheesy Swedish song lyrics:

In the Woods Cast in Shadow

I go in the woods cast in shadow

Where silence joyously sings

Among the secret leaves and pines

I find peace in my beating heart

A lone angel flutters past

In night’s shimmer, soft and clear

In starlight, a quiet music

Woven of dreams, timelessly plays

In the dance of shadows, nighttime smiles

Though I wander alone, I am not lost

Nature’s whispers fill my soul

While in the cradle of creation, I am reborn

Silently I go in moonlight

Amidst the rustle of trees and the quiet of night

I find peace in every neck of the woods

Where my being and nature become one, in faith

A.I. Raps!

  • Arthur the Rapper’s voice and rhythm were created by A.I. And both the lyrics sheet and the cover art of “Turing Test?” are 100% A.I. creations.
  • Composing a catchy tune, Mutte used ChatGPT and the prompt “Write a rap song about Alan Turing” to create the lyrics.
  • He fed the song lyrics into the A.I. text-to-speech platform Uberduck and hit “rap.” Uberduck created the rapper’s voice, style and rhythm.
  • Based on the prompt “A picture of a robot standing in a green field staring at us,” the A.I. platform Fotor created the cover artwork.
  • Amazing. You push a button and Ka-ching! Art comes out.

Turing Test?

Yo, listen up, I got a story ’bout a genius, no denying

Alan Turing kept the world from dying

World War E, he cracked the Enigma code   

A brilliant mind, in the cipher world, he wrote

                            

Born in England, with a vision so grand                                                          

A mathematician, he had the world in his hand

Tackled problems that many thought too tough

In the realm of computation, he had the right stuff

Alan Turing, pioneer in the digital domain 

Legacy established, he didn’t die in vain                        

A codebreaker, a mathematician, a hero in our lore

In the world of technology, his spirit we adore

He laid the groundwork for the computers we use                                   

In every line of code, his spirit’s the muse

A genius ahead of his time, he paved the way

In the digital era, he holds sway

Alan Turing, pioneer in the digital domain 

Legacy established, he didn’t die in vain                        

A codebreaker, a mathematician, a hero in our lore

In the world of technology, his spirit we adore

Alan Turing, pioneer in the digital domain 

Legacy established, he didn’t die in vain                        

A codebreaker, a mathematician, a hero in our lore

In the world of technology, his spirit we adore

He laid the ground for the computers we use                                             

In every line of code, his spirit’s the muse

A genius ahead of his time, he paved the way

In the digital era, he holds sway

Post-war, he dreamt of artificial intelligence                               

A future where machines had human-like relevance

Turing test, he proposed, to judge a machine’s mind

In the quest for AI, he was one of a kind

Persecuted, his love was his crime

In a world that couldn’t fathom his paradigm

Chemically castrated, society’s cruel game

But his brilliance continues, forever aflame

He laid the ground for the computers we use

In every line of code, his spirit’s the muse

A genius ahead of his time, he paved the way

In the digital era, he still holds sway

Ground for the computers we use                                                                   

In every line of code, his spirit’s the muse

A genius ahead of his time, he paved the way

In the digital era, he still holds sway

Born in England, with a vision so grand                                                          

A mathematician, he had the world in his hand

Tackled problems that many thought too tough

In the realm of computation, he had the right stuff

He laid the ground for the computers we use

In every line of code, his spirit’s the muse

A genius ahead of his time, he paved the way

In the digital era, he still holds sway

So here’s to Turing! We celebrate                   

In the world of technology, he’s first-rate

A rap for the man who changed the cipher game

Alan Turing’s legacy, forever in our name

So here’s to Turing! We celebrate                   

In the world of technology, he’s first-rate

A rap for the man who changed the cipher game

Alan Turing’s legacy, forever in our name