The Protocols
of the Elders of Hollyweird
January 24th 2006
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Milhous Nixon |
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(Written,
directed, produced, authorized, authenticated, evaluated, comprised,
inspected and denied by maxflackreport)
Less than a
week after the election of George W. Bush in 2000 AD, the Elders of
Hollyweird met at an undisclosed location to discuss what they
considered to be a political catastrophe. They had met before—when
Ronnie Reagan was elected and when the notorious Mr. Milhous had
seized the Presidency in 1968. Those had been stirring times—calling
for extreme measures—but now the cause of humanity was in jeopardy
as never before. Capitalism was running amok; the religious right
was threatening to tear down the wall between Jerry Falwell and the
people’s government; the neocons were acting so much like liberals
that Nancy Pelosi and Howard Dean were looking and sounding more
like George Wallace standing in the door of the schoolhouse than
FDR; and the Iraq War was stripping them of what little was left of
their progressive pretensions. Something had to be done.
So they met in
the back lot of one of Roger Corman's old sets—Droid Gunner or
Marquis de Sade; or it could have been in John D. Barrymore's
mausoleum. One undisclosed location is as good as another. A
cemetery would have been the ideal spot—that’s where Elders are
supposed to meet, but Susan Sarandon is afraid of ghosts. They
cursed Elia Kazan and the House Committee on Un-American Activities
and they praised Lionel Stander, the American Communist Party and
the Screen Writers Guild and then got down to business.
“We got to get
rid of Eliot Ness,” said Woody Harrelson. Okay—these are not the
smartest people in the world but they do have a sense of film
history.
A motion was made
to renew their vows, 1 to bring down capitalism, 2 to bring down the
American Imperium, 3 to bring down Herbert Hoover—
“Who’s Hoover?”
asked Woody Harrelson. Someone suggested they change number 3 to
George W. Bush. This was duly seconded and recorded.
Then came number
4: to make the world safe for gays, lesbians, transsexuals,
transvestites, sadomasochists, pornographers, and black guys who
kill white cops; number 5: to support minorities until they become
the majority; number 6: to end religious bigotry by ending religion
(John Travolta dissented); and number 7: to work for a one-world
government under the United Nations. It was understood that
Hollyweird would be the final arbiter of all social behavior as God
had intended. (John Wayne, Ronnie Reagan and Charlton Heston never
belonged to the Elders. One may assume that few of the current
Elders will be buried wrapped in an American flag) Edward Asner
reported on the whereabouts of his mia compadre, the George
Washington of Nicaragua, and Martin Sheen was given a lifetime award
for the 63 times he has been arrested as an agent provacateur. The
Elders then adjourned and went their separate ways. They have been
busy ever since.
Sean Penn has
been to Iraq. Unfortunately, he had to share the spotlight with US
Congressmen James McDermott (D-WA) and David Bonnier (D-MI). It was
humiliating. Saddam Hussein had never heard of him—thought he was
Buster Crabbe—wanted him fumigated.
Martin Sheen
spent a lot of time disparaging the new President. “George W. Bush
is like a bad comic working the crowd,” he said, “a moron, if you’ll
pardon the expression.” George W. Bush flew F-102 jet interceptors.
Martin Sheen flunked his college entrance exam—deliberately, he
says, so he could become an actor. Sheen couldn’t tell an F-102
from Snoopy’s doghouse or a Sandinistas from a Contra without Daniel
Ortega scorecard. Sheen is not a moron, but if one will pardon the
expression, he doesn’t avoid the appearance of being one.
Harry Belafonte
went all the way to Venezuela to call George W “the greatest
terrorist in the world.” Maybe he thought he was in Venice. Hugo
Chavez, Venezuela’s current El Presidente-for-life, welcomed Harry
with open arms. Apparently there is a shortage of trained parrots in
Venezuela. Harry should have taken his hate-America road show to the
Mad Anthony Wayne American Legion Club in Mudslide, Alabama. They
appreciate his kind of humor and he would make an excellent guest of
honor for one of their live pin-the-tail-on-the donkey shows. Make
sure you get on the right banana boat next time, Harry.
Sean Penn, Martin
Sheen, and Harry Bellefonte are only the tip of the Hollyweird
iceberg. The Elders new star rising is George Clooney. An actor, a
producer, and a director, Clooney has replaced Oliver Stone as
Berkeley’s most-loved Hollyweird celebrity. Clooney’s latest film
masterpiece, Syriana, is a geopolitical thriller. It’s set in an
unnamed Middle Eastern country. And lookie here, there’s a
reform-minded Muslim Prince—almost as rare as a three-eyed Albino
mule—who runs afoul of Islamo-fascist terrorists forced into their
hatred of the West by the actions of greedy American oil
companies!!! The Chinese are involved and the CIA is up to its neck
in skullduggery, dirty tricks and mayhem—assassinations optional.
And it’s all because of ‘awl.’
Yep—just like the
good ole boys sitting around their cracker barrels in Hope, Arkansas
had always suspected. “It’s awl about ‘awl,’ Billy Bob. It’s them
durn Rockefellers and Exxon…t’weren’t for them, there wouldn’t o’
been no nine-one-one and gas would be 25 cents a gallon an’ pig-farmin’
would profitable again.” Can’t argue with that kind of logic.
Is Syriana an
astute analysis or a Michael Moore pipe dream? Thomas Jefferson and
John Quincy Adams had noted Islam’s hatred of the West long before
John D. Rockefeller got ‘awl’ on his shoes tramping around
Pennsylvania’s backcountry. George Washington had already swapped
arms for the release of American seamen taken hostage by Muslim
corsairs in the Mediterranean. And it wasn’t about ‘awl.’
John Foss was a
seaman serving on the good ship Polly. While on its way to Cadiz
with a cargo of grain and flour, the ship was seized by pirates.
Foss took notes. Mahomet Salamia, captain of the pirate ship, the
Babazera, told his captives to expect harsh treatment “for your
history and superstition in believing in a man who was crucified by
the Jews, and disregarding the true doctrine of God’s last and
greatest prophet Mahomet.” No mention of ‘awl,’ just tar, pitch and
resin. At the palace Dey Hassan told the poor wretches, “Now I have
got you, you Christian dogs, you shall eat stones.” (A.B.C. Whipple
To The Shores Of Tripoli p.36)
Like Martin
Sheen, Clooney is a college dropout and also like Sheen he appears
less grounded in reality than the good old boys hunkering around
their cracker barrels in God’s country. Steven Spielberg has no such
excuse; he’s a college graduate though it did take him 30 years from
start to finish, in between he found the time to make a gazillion
movies. Spielberg might be a cinematic genius but his latest
imperishable masterpiece Munich has some critics scratching their
heads. The film is a gripping suspense thriller set in the aftermath
of the massacre of 11 Israeli Olympic athletes in 1972. The
terrorists are brave family men only slightly worse than the
bumbling Israeli secret agents who are trying their damnedest to
hustle them on their way to Allah’s Great Whorehouse in the Sky.
Politically correct terrorists are boring. Maybe a little
wife-beating to interrupt the marital bliss would have helped. The
Qur’an allows wife beating in certain instances. But then the work
of Ayaan Hirsi Ali in this particular area seems not to have had an
effect on Spielberg. (The fate of Theo van Gogh, however, might have
caused a gulp or two)
Maybe Spielberg
was paying some late dues to the PC crowd. Who knows? Now if
Hollyweird should make a movie depicting Nathan Bedford Forrest in a
positive light or George Wallace as a fun-loving, freedom-fighting
family man…ah, but that would be asking too much.
The Elders hate
George W. Bush and capitalism more than they fear radical Islam. So
it’s business as usual. If America should lose the
cultural/religious/political war being fought in the dar al-harb how
many Moulin Rouges Hollyweird think the Caliphate would allow them
to produce in the next hundred years?
Don’t take
your socks off, Woody, it’s a trick question—the answer is none.
By Tom Madison
Freelance Writer
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