Who
is... Donna Barr? Donna
Barr has been drawing since 1954, writing since 1962, published since 1986,
and publishing since 1996.
She has a Bachelors' Degree in German, and
is a veteran of the United States Army (1970-1973).
Readers worldwide
follower her THE DESERT PEACH, STINZ, BOSOM ENEMIES, HADER
AND THE COLONEL, among others.
She is recognized by her peers as
a pioneer in the field of drawn books and their use in new technologies of distribution
and reproduction. She is a contributor to the world's largest webcomics site,
moderntales.com, and its affiliate
sites.
She achieved her lifetime career goal in 2004 when her life's
work -- past, present and future -- has been accepted as part of the San Diego
State University's Library's Special Collection, and will be available to students
and professors for research, and to the public for exhibits.
She can
be emailed at barr at stinz dot com (remove spam barriers). She answers. Keep
the sentences short.
Freethinkers, Freebooters (Declaring War, Part 2) By Donna Barr
Now that we’re done pretending we understand ANYTHING about movies (like most reviewers), on to the rest of the article, which will go into everything from who is L as opposed to C, and how to subvert the minds of children.
Right now I’m dealing the question of who is a liberal.
Well, first of all, as you probably have figured out, I’m not a liberal. I’m not even-tempered, or even-handed or gentle-minded or kindly or – well, I as going to say not generous, but I get suckered into helping more often than not.
I’m totally and completely prejudiced. I hate hate hate anybody who hates or harms me or mine. I’m utterly selfish in this. Liberal? Me? I don’t think so.
I absolutely hate:
The forestry industry that puts agent orange in MY water. And the clearcut methods that destroy the weather stabilization machinery and the carbon cycle that helps keep this planet liveable for ME. Don’t whine to me that your family is a logger. As far as me and my health is concerned, you’re just making the barbed wire. Yes, I hug trees – a tree provides me with water and food and shade, simply by maintaining an ecosystem. What do YOU do? And don’t tell me you turn forests into toilet paper or these rickety little stick-built houses. You sure as hell don’t care about either my head or my ass.
The coal industry, the nuclear industry, and the oil industries, which crap up the air I have to put in MY lungs. Oh, we don’t have enough ROOM to go into these people’s sins. May they all rot in the same Hell to which Robert Oppenheimer has assigned himself. I hope anybody driving an SUV runs headfirst into a logging truck. Why the hell are we using these stupid-ass fossil fuels anyway? Haven’t we always had soybean oil? And while we’re at it – why go out and murder the whales for industrial purposes when you had plant oils? We always did! What’s up with that? Or is that just more Testicle Fun Things, like Carpet Bombing or Combat Flying? Wheee! Let’s go kill something – and then scream like little girls when they shoot back or ram our ships.
And don’t start your little The Only Good Indian arguments about the Makah eating whales. They want five whales a year – for food. For FOOD. Yeah, I’m talking to you, cow-gobbler. They’re not winding up whole pods of whales to grind up for mechanical lubrication and bonemeal and catfood and soap. Don’t you dare try to smokescreen your own Cetacean Ausschwitz with their subsistence hunt. Me, I’d like to taste a whale. But I’d like to taste human, too.
(NOT THAT WAY, JASON!!!)
Most of the women I know would like to taste human. It’s just a culinary thing. A friend of mine http://www.reportsfromoz.blogspot.com/ has recipes for babies. They’re a lot like the ones for suckling pig. Same amount of soft fat.
Anybody at all involved in street-pushing the drug war. Without the drug war, MY father would still be alive. May everybody wrapped up in this stupid self-righteous self-indulgent prison-industry-driven bullshit die in a street battle with a very bad crack hangout. My father never deserved what he went through because he couldn’t get a little green pain-killer, and had to blow out both lungs sucking in that subsidized brown drug from the tobacco industry, and finally unplugged his oxygen to get a little eternal peace (after sneaking permission from ME, oh clueless favorite daughter, I thank you NOT VERY MUCH). And do NOT start with me that booze and tobacco aren’t drugs – and that you aren’t as addicted as anybody with a plastic tube wrapped around their biceps. And that includes us caffeine suckers. Ban cappuccinos and there’s be blood in the streets. I’d be on the barricades with a FLAG.
Anybody who has gone out of their way to kill off any species of animals – especially for economic or political reasons. Particularly large animal forms that help to regulate the water and weather patterns of entire regions. May all the American pioneers who murdered the buffalo be tied up in Hell and laid down in the other-worldly prairies in the ghostly migration routes. I don’t care if they were your fricking grandparents. They can spend the afterlife with buffalo chips in their eyes. And anybody shooting wolves from airplanes can spend their eternities tied down on a rock with cubs and ravens worrying their guts.
And I don’t want to hear any more of this whining from farmers about being driven off their farms. You all CAME from societies where you let them kick you off “your” land so they could raise sheep (or just replace the two-legged with the 4-legged?), you mindless serf. You brought the same nasty treatment that had been heaped upon your own people and applied it to the people and animals that were living here. My God, I’ve read old books where your ancestors absolutely gloated –GLOATED -- over all that empty space after the Injuns and the Bufflers were wiped out for you and your helpless “won’t feed themselves” African cattle. Are you at ALL amazed that what goes around comes around? My God, the blindness, the blindness. AND the only reason you really hate wolves is because they wanted a mouthful of the meat you were greedying up for yourselves. Glutton Glutton Glutton!
Oh, I will stop right here and praise a bunch of American farmers – the ones that caused the Dust Bowl. Rather than trying to blame somebody else for their stupidity and laziness, they flat-out took the rap for it. They admitted bad sloppy farming practices, and raped resources.
Didn’t prevent ‘em from ripping the guts out of their farmland, but at least they admitted it afterwards. This at least puts them up on the same level as the Germans and the Truth Commissions. They fucked up, but then they looked it straight in the eye. The Germans even have a word for it: Vergangenheitsbewältigung, or “coping with the past.” It makes ‘em a smidgen higher on the decency list than the rest of the human race, if nothing else. When the rest of us gonna do that? Huh? Huh? Here’s a mirror, if you want to start.
Anything in a uniform. The military and the police are really out to defend themselves. They like each other best – hell, they love each other best. They’ll shoot anybody that threatens them, regardless of all the moaning about how they’re there to protect other people. Whole nations can starve as long as they get their shiny boots and fancy billion-dollar toys. Last century’s “cannon fodder” has transferred its legitimate body-count to this century’s “collateral damage.” Protecting me, my ass. I’d like to see the cop or the soldier ever protected me – they only protect women when they’re sticking their pricks in them. Like any guy ever has. They’re the ones who threaten me in the first place. Ain’t a damn thing on this planet I need protected from – except the guys who started the vicious cycle in the first place. It’s why I carry a crowbar in by the front seat of my car. You think I’m going to ever have to pop a woman between the eyes with that thing? Or that a woman is likely to whomp my bumper just to get me out of the car to strangle or fuck me? On another planet, maybe.
ANY modern organized religion. They ALL hate women. They think we’re dreck. They think we’re the lesser vessel. They’re so obviously written up by scared, whiney, vicious males who couldn’t get a date so they’ve invented sacred celibacy, acting like our cunts are too dirty for their pristine holy male hands to touch. Shave your heads, boys, but if there’s anything you need to keep your hands off of, it’s my RIGHTS, your own gods damn you.
Recently – and I’m NOT telling you why or where, just that you better be on the lookout for something really good – I remembered that I know how to teach kids how to get around censorship, and what copyright is.
In association with the Seattle Center Science Center, I was teaching an 8-year-old girl (and a bunch of boys) to make comic books. Boys being boys, the tiny testicles wanted a superhero named “Fartman.” You can imagine his method of flight propulsion. They were very disappointed in me when I said that we couldn’t use that – until I explained that, if they wanted the Center to make copies of their little opus, they were going to have to disguise what they were doing. And yes, I did say, “Censors are stupid. It’s half the fun getting around them.” I didn’t say “parents” or “teachers.” The kids took it as read – as it is – that censorship starts with parents and teachers and goes on into society in the hands of P’s and T’s who do not know when to QUIT and not apply kiddy rules to grown-ups. Like I said, Censors Are Stupid.
So they came up with “Beanman.” He ate lots of beans. They got their intestinal-track laugh, and the Center copied their books for them. Little minds well-inoculated.
Copyright taught to kids: Kids in another class wanted me to draw The Little Mermaid (the Disney thing – the one with the seashells on her tits). I shook my head. “Nope. Copyright infringement.” (I was being paid for this class). When they protested I pointed at one attempt at drawing TLM that one kid had on the desk in front of her. “See that?” I said. “If they really really wanted to, the Disney lawyers could come take that piece of paper away from you. It’s THEIR image. They own it. So now they own your piece of paper.” Well, that was the end of the urge to unoriginality in those kids.
See? This stuff is easy.
Unfortunately, when we say "Let's write for kids," we usually mean, "Let's write for what the parents or teachers will LET their kids see.” Yes, I'm for subverting children into free-thinkers who can defend themselves. Despite their parents and teachers -- who usually don't so much have their kids' interests at heart, as their own egos and/or tenure. Hell, there are millions of parents out there who want to tell their kids what their sex-lives are going to be. They’ll drag ‘em into conversion cults if that’s what it takes – and they’ll throw ‘em out on the street if they imagine the kids aren’t going to use their pricks or cunts the way mommy and daddy WANT them to (check out http://www.rosmy.org/ for people who can tell you horror stories). How can ANYBODY be into kiddie-porn like that, much less the parents? Brrrr… creeps! Gag! Puke!
Of course, these are the kind of people who let their kids play with cats – and then kill the cat (www.clallamatbay.blogspot.com).
While we’re at it, let’s subvert the American jury system – or use it to its full potential.
A jury I was on was watching the trial of a guy wanted second degree for the murder he’d already admitted. He was claiming it wasn’t premediatated. Think he got off with that? Planted evidence, collusion between the police and the prosecutor and the defense, and a couple jury members who decided to GET the asshole (good god, raped and then drowned the woman in a bathtub, tied her so tight with a phone cord he took the KINK out of the cord): yeah, we got him. "Not premeditated," my ass.
What most people don't realize is that a jury is sequestered -- you can have a party in there and then roll dice if you want to. You can bully each other, and yell and throw things or even – gods help us – act like grown-ups and have a deeply-considered discussion about the trial’s ACTUAL meaning for society. You do NOT have to pay a bit of attention to any judge who tells you to ignore anything that was said during the trial. They sure as hell can’t prove you did or you didn’t.
The jury is there to ameliorate screwy laws and bad evidence, mean cops and disappeared witnesses. Nobody can bug you while you're in there, and nobody can ask how you decided. You do NOT have to listen to the judge's instructions, if you damn-well don't want to. The judge is just a pumped-up lawyer. You are the highest-ranking court officer -- just as you are the Commander In Chief.
A jury is a Citizen Star Chamber.
So if you’ve murdered a woman, you don’t want me on a jury as a “liberal” – because I will look the judge straight in the eye and tell him that I can decide the case without prejudice. Oh, I lie beautiful, especially to Suits. I was in the gaddamn U.S. army, you think they didn’t teach me to lie through my teeth? Girl, it was lie or die. There is no better school for dishonesty and prevaricating through the loopholes than the Green Machine. Theft and creeping and pillage is what it’s all about. I can stand up at attention, heels locked, and stare a sergeant major straight in the eyeballs and blurt out whatever Da Man wants me to hear – and he couldn’t tell with a gaddamn retinal scan whether or not I’m going to carry out what I promised. Whadda I owe him? The whole damn society is about force – I don’t owe Da Man a hot breakfast, much less carrying out whatever dirtbag plan he’s cornered me to complete.
So you better keep your hands clean around women if you think you might ever find yourself in the position of looking over and seeing me looking all innocent and pure in the jury box. You won’t ever rape another women when Miz Actress Jury Member gets done with you. You’ll spend your time learning how it FEELS.
