LET THE FISH-FRY PROCEED (May 7, 2020) (copyright 2020 Rip Rense, The Rip Post, all
Let’s see, let’s see. . .
A million point two total infections in Uncle Sam Land.
Seventy-five thousand-plus brand spankin’ new corpses. With those cute rigor
mortis grins and blind dry eyeballs. Hospitals little more than clearing
houses for the Great Beyond. Or probably not so great. Refrigerator truck
doors bursting open from overloading of cold human COVID-cured meat.
Please rise for our
national anathema. . . O say can you see
by the rot cellulite. . .what so cynically we made. . .while Trump’s teeth
were gleaming. . .Whose broad ass and psych scars were so lousy with spite.
Let’s see. . .Yes, now
that the Reaper is really reapin’, really groovin’, really “rockin,” as
Little President Jared said our “economy” will be doing by July. . .now is
the time to reopen everyfuckingthing. Hey, baby, it’s like Bush said after
9/11---“go shopping!” Reopen all those coffee joints, all those small
businesses that received zero aid from the so-called federal government
because it was all lapped up by the long, lascivious, lupine tongues of the
rich, like skimming fat off a stew. Yeah! Reopen the
beaches, the forests, the mountains, the oceans, the deserts---right
away! Amerrygun shitizens must have their playgrounds to shit in, despoil
with empty beer cans, Wild Turkey bottles, styrofoam cups, used giant ribbed
condoms, discarded thongs, and the glorious patriotic cornucopia of
oil-based junk that will eventually make its way into the oceans and
everything you eat. Hurry!
Reopen the restaurants!
Set up the chairs and open the booths for the great American hiney to
squeeze into so funseekers can say cool and awesome and
shovel down more fat, grease, sugar. . .in order to fart out great, glorious
clouds of human methane recently proven to be a major contributor to global
warming. Yes! What says pro-life more than joyfully expelled gas? Say
hallelujah! Fart one for Jesus!
Reopen! Let your
inspiration be the sight of President Adipose touring a “mask-making
facility” in Arizona, while, I swear to Vishnu, “Live and Let Die” played in
the background. At first I thought it was scintillating irony, then I
remembered that Trump lumpenproleteriat played this same song at
black masses while anointing their Satan, pre-election. The grimacing bastard must really like the line, “What does
it matter to yuh. . .When you gotta job tuh do, you gotta do it well. . .you
gotta give the other fella hellllll. . .” Go ahead, laugh: I
used to actually believe that this country, no matter what monstrous
errand boy for the corporatocracy was “elected,” would, in times of extreme
crisis, “rally together,” as the Hallmark cardworthy cliché goes. I used to
think that the so-called government would at least make the attempt, or give
the appearance, of doing its job, in some hulking, half-witted way, to care
for a populace in a catastrophe. Then came Katrina, which is a miracle of
efficiency compared to COVID-19.
Even the words, “care for
the populace,” show how deeply stupid, paralyzingly gullible, I was. Yes,
it’s the guvment’s job, but since when does this or any guvment do its job?
Oh, wait, I guess New Zealand has done rather nobly in our time, containing
the virus with testing/tracing/quarantine (not surprising, since it also
banned fiend weaponry after a single mass shooting there----while the Church of the
AK-47, the National Rifle Association, the Vatican for sad paranoiac white
trash, continues to shill for hollow-points in the heads of kindergarteners
and African-Americans out for strolls.) And Taiwan, which is the sweetest,
happiest place on earth, has so intelligently handled the virus crisis that
the whole deranged world should get down on its bloodied, arthritic knees in
admiration and gratitude. Instead we have Death
Race 2020, hosted by your fave reality TeeVee host, Donald Schlump. Yes,
he had the most difficult decision of his life to make, he said, regarding
“re-opening the country.” In other words, as usual, it was all about HIM.
Everything is about HIM. Everything, even death! Now that’s serious egomania,
people. But it was no more difficult a decision for him to make than it is
for a Kardashian to decide to look in a mirror. I mean when the choices are,
on the one hand, money, and the other hand, the suffering and deaths of
losers (his favorite term of condescension), old hippies, elderly
deadweight, the sick and weak, the retired (Social Security leeches!), the
occasional child. . .hey, what’s to decide? As God said in “The Green
Pastures” (I highly recommend), “Let
the fish-fry proceed.”
And so Trump is frying
plenty of fish, probably a couple hundred thousand, at least, before this
thing is over. If it ever gets over, that is. Everyone is blithely, brattily
swaggering around, saying “When there is a vaccine.” When? Who says
there is a when? I read a very credible report by an actual
scientist---apologies to President Jared---who said that five or ten years
is a reasonable gestation period for a vaccine. If there even is one! Look
how long it took to get an effective treatment for AIDS, fer crissakes.
At last we come to the saints and angels, I
mean doctors and nurses. Yes, the doctors, too---especially Lorna
Breen of New York Presbyterian-Allen Hospital, who committed suicide
after watching hundreds in her care die in stark terror as their
lungs turned to rock.
But in what Bush used to call the Unitashtase, the land of “Where the
fuck is my beer, bitch?” it’s just an expectation, an infant’s demand for
rattle. Where’s my vaccine, goddamn it? I got baseball and football tuh
watch! I got women tuh screw! Do I even have to cite the deeply
repulsive comments by the Koch money-backed so-called protestors who
complained about not being able to get their fucking mani-pedis, and roots
colored? Those people should be renditioned to a leper colony off Sri Lanka,
dosed with acid, and chained naked to outhouses they are charged to keep
clean. That might---might---give them a more charitable, empathetic
perspective. But probably not.
What is more poetic, more
lyrical, more dazzlingly All-American perfect than the fact that a Seattle
Native American health center asked for some “personal protective
equipment,” and instead received. . .body bags? While the goddamned Los
Angeles Lakers got $4.6 million in “small business” aid (which it promptly
returned, deeply embarrassed), and something called the Fiesta Restaurant
Group (which employs 10,000 people) got $189 million, with $365 million of
the total $349 billion in aid going to publicly traded companies. Oh, and not to forget
the $17 billion dollars in “fees”---yes, fees---that banks charged for
giving out small business loans under the "Payroll Protection Program." How
much more blatant must criminality be before someone calls it criminality?
And on and criminal on.
“There’ll be more death,”
proudly announces Chief Executioner Trump to NBC---he who ignored all
warnings of the coming pandemic---including those made to him repeatedly in
intelligence reports last November---and continued psychotically
calling it a “hoax” into March. Yeah, guess all those dead Chinese people
were a hoax! Translation: Trumpy is now officially a mass murderer, which
maybe gives him half a hard-on with which to defile and abuse his poor
airhead golddigger wife. After all, little Donnie can now claim a place with
the big boys: Adolf, Pol Pot, Stalin, Idi, his adopted succubus, Kim Jong
Un, and the rest. He’s a piker by comparison, of course, but he has proven
that he is badass enough to kill, baby, kill. (Prediction: "re-opening" will
double deaths and infections by end of June.) Of course, this
remorseless troglodyte, who looks like a fat toad that just swallowed
garden poison, this fatuous oaf with the tanning-bed burn and serial killer
signature, this self-adoring slob who makes Madonna seem prim, this fiend
with bile in his veins instead of blood. . .is in a dead panic over losing
the election to, as he put it, “fuckin’ Joe Biden.” I admit that would
indeed be one humiliating prospect, and one that I wish on him with all my
being; it’s the silver bullet for this lycanthrope. And to that end comes
his latest fascist move---appointing a close friend as Postmaster General.
Say goodbye to voting by mail, kiddies!
At last we come to the
saints and angels, I mean doctors and nurses. Yes, the doctors,
too---especially Lorna Breen of New York Presbyterian-Allen Hospital, who
committed suicide after watching hundreds in her care die in stark terror as
their lungs turned to rock. But the nurses---the old nurses who went back to
work, knowing it was probable suicide, and the young women who embody the
largely deceased human (and, once upon a time, American) ideal of. .
.helping someone, well, let me just quote a couple. Here is D'Neill Schmall,
who works in NYC. She could barely speak through sobs: “I'm tired of calling
families and telling them that news.. . .choking, weeping, taking deep
breaths I cried the whole way home in the Uber tonight and the driver was
like, maa'm are you okay. . .and I don't think people understand how
stressful this job is. I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, but
it's so stressful. I wish people could just give us a break. Everyone is
trying hard. Everyone is trying hard.”
Or the unnamed Michigan
nurse who so righteously posted this:
“I would have no problem
if you fools worried about your ‘freedom’ all went out and got COVID. If
only you could sign a form stating that you revoke your right to have
medical treatment based on your cavalier antics and refusal to abide by CDC
and medical professionals' advice. If you were the only people who got
infected during your escapades to protest tyranny, great. But that's sadly
not how this works.” When I think of the
vermin protestors---make that vermin under the fingernails of
vermin---screaming into the faces of nurses going to work that they are
“viruses,” I desperately, against my basic instincts, wish that they find
themselves gasping for air, petrified, their last thoughts about how vicious
and rotten they were. The picture delights me. And when I think of President
arguingwith a nurse on National Nurse Day when she spoke
the plain truth that nurses still cannot get sufficient masks and gloves,
well. . .
Every death, every person
crippled for life, every bit of suffering, every bit of damage to physical
health, mental health, every dead child, every maimed fitness trainer, every
father of three saying goodbye to his family over an iPhone. . .is due to
one virus, and one virus alone. And that’s the one in the Whitey House.
WHERE IS THIRD BEATLES REUNION SONG? here
Read "Who's a Whore?" a fun
little verse for all sellouts to, I mean investors in. . .China! here
"Song without music for Jerry
on the 25th anniversary of his passing
by Rip Rense here
The great Jerry Lawson dies Jerry Lawson, the smooth baritone
lead singer and arranger of the fabled a cappella group,
The Persuasions, died July 10 at a Phoenix, Arizona
hospice following a long illness. He was 75. His wife,
Julie Lawson, was at his side. (Full obituary
Joe Jack Opera highlights for novices,
hosted by Rip Rense
“If you’re gonna get off on somethin’ you don’t need to
know nothin’ about it, music is a universal language.
If it’s opera in Italian,
you ain’t supposed to know nothin’ about Italy.
You can just sit there and dig on it.”
---the late, great Dr. John.
MIXED FEELINGS ABOUT
THE NEW 'WHITE ALBUM' MIX
RENSE COMMENTS ON POOR
CHOICES, EXPEDIENCE, LACK OF IMAGINATION EXCLUSIVE!
the greatest grateful dead album
the grateful dead never made.
PERSUASIONS OF THE DEAD
20 TRACKS. 2 CDs. 12 GUEST ARTISTS. The Persuasions, Brooklyn-grown
street singers who became the most important
and powerful a cappella group in American
history, interpret the songs of Robert
Hunter and Jerry Garcia of the Grateful
Dead. Songs that still are among the most
engaging in American music.
Sheer poetry, meet sheer melody.
---grateful dead lyricist
produced by Rip Rense
mixed by Marc Doten
cover illustration by Luis Genaro Garcia
SPECIAL GUESTS ARTISTS:
Country Joe McDonald, Mark Karan (Ratdog),
Jackie LaBranch and Gloria Jones (Jerry
Garcia Band), Grateful Dead keyboardist
Vince Welnick, Dongming Qiao, James King,
Alyn Kelley, Eric Thompson, Peter Rowan,
Pete Grant, Mary Schmary.
"Deadheads, take a hit from
this double disc dose of the real thing.
Persuasions fans, this may be the last time
you'll ever hear a Persuasions line-up with
original lead, and once-in-a-lifetime
talent, Jerry Lawson. . .These tracks are
stories that happen to have been set to
song, not songs that happen to have a
---Jonathan Minkoff, Recorded A Cappella
"Album producer Rip Rense calls the marriage
these two acclaimed artists
"a surprisingly natural fit." He couldn't be
more right. It works because these tracks
are more than just covers; they're tributes.
Each arrangement is designed to draw
something new out of the original. Many of
them include actual instruments, such as
piano, guitar, and baritone saxophone."
---Nicole Maria Milano, Recorded A Cappella
AND RENSART PRODUCTIONS
LISTEN TO SAMPLES AND ORDER
LIVE AT McCABE'S GUITAR SHOP!
Greatest A Cappella Group in American
in its only LIVE NIGHTCLUB ALBUM.
Everyone knows, or should know, that as
great as Persuasions studio albums were, you
did not experience The Persuasions unless
you saw them live. Rip Rense set about
capturing this vocal lightning in a bottle
at McCabe’s Guitar Shop in 1999. Yes, it’s
just like being there.
70 MINUTES OF MUSIC AND JOY.
5 SONGS NEVER ON A PERSUASIONS ALBUM.
PRODUCED BY RIP RENSE
AND MARC DOTEN
FOR RENSART RECORDS.
BY RIP RENSE
"Staggeringly well written. .
.sweet. . .funny. . .sad. . .elegaic. . .not a
thought nor sentence out of place." ---Keith Snider, San
by Barbara Weeks
Daily Breeze column on "The Oaks"
MAN CHAINS SELF
TO OAK TREE, READS 'THE OAKS' AGAIN AND AGAIN!
"I stayed up
to finish the last 100 pages.” ---Dave Allen, Thousand
""This book deserves to
be read by hundreds of thousands of people It is a
gem that talks to a diverse group of people: those
who grew up in dysfunctional families(!); Southern
Californians who will love the suburban anecdotes;
teens and everybody who has ever been a teen with
all the awkwardness those years impart. It's also
quite funny. Readers simultaneously laugh while
groaning over these horribly insensitive 'adults'
raising Charlie, who is much more adult than they
are." ---Susan Christian
columnist for the Daily Breeze, People Mag. Correspondent.
LESS THAN SATISFYING ENCOUNTERS WITH
THE DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION. . .
Measured by its attitude.
"The greatest book I've ever read---in the
bathroom."---Mike Ball, Glendale, CA.
"You have more 'less than satisfying encounters'
than any three other people I know. I've
given this some thought and my conclusion is
that it is your unhappy fate to be something of
a "schmuck magnet." Unpleasant-incompetent-self-aggrandising
people enter your close orbit with greater
than the rest of us."
---Bob Ballenger, Encino, CA.
230 pages of LTSEWH's.
LINGO CZAR THE DECLINE
OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION---
Measured by its language.
The long-running column
(L.A. Times, The Rip Post) is now 210 acid-dripping pages exposing rigidly
conformist slang, pin-headed outbursts, 'cool'
patois, abominable cliches, infantile drivel,
smug rejoinders, mandatory peer-enforced
buzzwords and iPhone-speak that Americans are
spewing from their 500-word vocabularies as
their knuckles hang ever closer to the sidewalk.