Alien Jesus Collective

How could I NOT say yes to Ed’s invite of doing some investigative reporting? I got my snakeskin boots and headed north over the mexican border to meet up in Phoenix.

The drive was very pleasant despite 107 degree temps and air hazard warnings. The men and women at the security checkpoint just south of the Hoover damn were looking for nothing less than Osama himself in the sweltering conditions, and we glided by without even a full stop ’til we hit the strip and our luxury suite on the 22nd floor of the Aladdin Hotel.

The room was gorgeous and cool, room service was speedy and suprisingly delicious. A corner room that curved around in windows showing a full view of Las Vegas Blvd, even from the huge bathtub. Why did we have to go out? oh yeah, Kreskin. The UFOs. shit.

Tiredly, we forced ourselves back into the heat of a still 107 degrees at 9:30pm and headed off strip. Off, off strip to the Silverton Casino where Kreskin just happened to be wrapping up his engagement. There was alot of traffic and police were there with their flares and flashlights directing about a thousand locals doing burnouts and heaving beer bottles.
Kreskin had said UFOs would appear between 9:50pm and Midnight, and he would take people in busesout to the desert to witness it. “Out in the desert” really was a vacant lot in the back of the Silverton’s RV parking lot. We parked on the other side of the vacant lot by the luxury condos. Oh yeah, way out in the desert.

We turned on Art Bell and were just getting out our equipment for recording when a caller said that Kreskin had declared the event over with. We hadn’t even recorded the big billboard that said “Kreskin” “UFOS TONIGHT 7:30″ “Spagetti Dinner 1.99″ “R Slots R Hot”.

We figured with the surly local crowd being nuts to begin with, we needed to get out of there before they all heard the news of “over” and turned the dusty lot into a tornado. We headed back to the luxury room we didn’t want to leave in the first place. Over, just like that.

Now the thing is, had we any belief whatsoever that UFOs were going to show up we would have been as far away as possible. UFOs are nothing to fool with. Yes, I do believe in them, that’s exactly why I wouldn’t want anything to do with them. But the idea that this has-been quack playing at a RV Casino in Vegas was predicting UFOs was so tempting. He was putting up 50k to charity if there wasn’t the biggest mass sighting of UFOs, so what was the gimmick? We had to see. But we didn’t see anything but a few hundred 21st century beehives and naked girl mudflaps. Oh sure, there were things in the sky. The vacant lot sits under the very busy McCarren Airport’s flight path. Talk about a loaded dice scenario. Well, no need being too disappointed, this was Vegas, surely there was something to occupy us for the next 48 hours.

The Friday night following the “event”, Kreskin was on Art Bell’s show and rambled something about 9-11 and how terrorist deception could be used and he was merely demonstrating how you could hypnotize somebody to see a UFO. Frankly, after listening to the phone call a few times I’m not sure what he was saying, I don’t know what his intention was in the first place. The 50k is not being given to charity because Kreskin claimed people saw UFOs and whether they were real or hallucinated doesn’t matter. Art Bell was quite mad and banned Kreskin from the show.

I’m baffled. Was this stunt done for him personally? Was the Silverton Casino in on it? What did he hope to accomplish past having one sold out show? He had the ear of Art Bell, and love him or hate him the ratings are high, millions of listeners and Kreskin blew that on such a bullshit hoax that even Barnum himself would be ashamed. Banned from Bell (quite a huskter himself) , engagement at the RV park over with…where do you go from there, Mr Mentalist? shouldn’t you know? like really KNOW?

I guess the 50k Kreskin is keeping in his pocket really is going to charity.

Sunday has come and gone, and with it the first wave of American air strikes against Afghanistan. Donald Rumsfeld was rather subdued at his Pentagon press conference. Rumsfeld talks a lot, but if you want the real story you should watch his hands. He’s the only senior Cabinet member who makes me want to learn sign language. Typically he makes a number of gestures worthy of Merlin (or at least David Copperfield), but today his hands were strangely silent. I think he’s feeling the gravity of the current situation. There’s a huge difference between deploying forces and having them attack something. I find Rumsfeld’s silent hands strangely comforting; I think he realizes that innocents will die along with the guilty.

Interesting spin on the air campaign: we need air superiority in order to deliver relief supplies to the Afghan population. In the media age, perception is everything. Civilian casualties were never an issue in World War II; they were to be expected, and there was no television to carry images of villages littered with the dead into our homes. Imagine Franklin Roosevelt bombing Dresden so that American forces could deliver relief supplies to the German people. As ridiculous as that sounds, it’s what our government claims to be doing today in Afghanistan.

I’m not suggesting that it’s a bad idea to destroy training facilities used by Al Qaeda to train soldiers for the war against America. To do otherwise only invites Osama bin Laden to strike again. But let’s not delude ourselves about what we’re doing half a world away. America’s objective is to topple the Taliban rulers of Afghanistan because they refuse to turn bin Laden over to the US government. The Taliban is an oppressive regime which has repeatedly violated the human rights of the Afghani people. But as the saying goes, “If you’re making an omlette you have to break some eggs.” American military action has and will lead to the deaths of many innocents. Whether the Taliban places dissidents in the line of fire, or one of our “smart bombs” rides the short bus into a preschool, people with no responsibility for the World Trade Center attack or any other terrorist actions will die. Innocents will perish as a direct result of our government’s action. That places the responsibility for those deaths directly upon the shoulders of the American public. You and I.

I’m dissapointed. Dissapointed in our leaders, who feel the need to sugar coat what’s going on in Afghanistan right now. We’re all adults here Mr. President. Don’t tell us we’re achieving “air superiority” so that we can feed the Afghani people. We’re clearing the skies over Afghanistan so that our planes can strike with impunity against our targets of choice. Calling the current conflict the “War on Terrorism” draws an unfortunate parallel with the “War on Drugs”:

The third parallel is the one I find the most worrysome. I’m reminded of the Gulf War. Whether you feel America was justified in the Gulf War, you have to question the decision not to press on into Bagdad and capture or eliminate Sadaam Hussein. Imagine the Allies stoping short of Berlin in WWII! If you’re waging war against the Hitler of the month, you damn well better kill him if you don’t want to be accused of using empty rhetoric and hyperbole. Is Osama the new Hitler? What is our goal in bombing Afghanistan? Are we trying to kill bin Laden? Destroy all the facilities of Al Qaeda? Topple the Taliban? Because “eliminating terrorism” is a great idea, but as a military objective it’s horribly nebulous.

Dr Strangelove just got Stranger, and even more dangerous as the sinister chuckles flowed from Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld on Tuesday, May 8, announcing the United States would proceed with a Space War strategy. “Space Pearl Harbor” chuckle chuckle “no, we don’t know what it will be yet” chuckle chuckle. Put this footage into black and white and you could drop him into the film Dr Strangelove and easily convice people it was missing footage restored. Rumsfeld chuckled that the administration wants to experiment with as many as a dozen different missile defense systems. “To the extent they work, terrific, we’ll put more money behind them. To the extent they don’t, we’ll try to find a better way to do these things”

“People think, you know, ‘My goodness, they obviously have something in their heads that’s all firm and all fixed, and they’re going to suddenly pull open the curtain and there it is.’ Not true,” Rumsfeld said during a Pentagon news conference.

He should have added “There’s nothing in our heads but saving our precious bodily fluids.”

So face it, your tax dollars are going to this win or lose. or lose. or lose. Past expirements with missile defense have been less than deadly with missiles not reaching the target. Last December’s launching cost 90 million dollars and with a party atmosphere of defense bigwigs flying out to see the show it was the hottest ticket in KillTown. But the super secret,ultra- high security missile launch started with those greenpeace buttinskis rolling across the lawn in a golf cart with a dennouncing banner and jinxed the project from being a success. Back to the expensive Drawing Board. Might want to start with figuring out how to keep GreenPeace protestors out of your small earth missile range before you attempt the vast expanses of space, fellas.

In a major address last week, President Bush denounced the Anti-Ballastic Missile Treaty (ABM) as antiquated and vowed to fulfill his campaign promise to build a global missile shield. Rumsfeld yesterday spoke of how the policy (probably a simply worded poster with stick figure pictures) will be given to the scores of countries that have shown grave concerns that the administration wants to do away with the ABM Treaty because it’s the one weak hope they have that they wont be blown to smithereens.

“There is no question but that the ABM Treaty has prevented research and development and testing and experimentation with a host of things . . . and that is the subject of the consultations that are taking place,” Rumsfeld said.

“Consultations” meaning they are patting them on the head like children after a nightmare and soothingly saying “you don’t want us to cut off all this foreign aid do youuuuu?”

Dumbass foreigners anyway, you really think some jihad’ing arab is going to hurl himself into space with a bomb on his back? Sure, they would if they *could* but alot of these terrorists are still mastering the fine details of using a flashlight.

When Rumsfeld went before the Senate Armed Services Committee, Sen. Pat Roberts (R-Kan.) asked , “What keeps you up at night?” Rumsfeld gave his menacing know-it-all grin and said “The importance of considerably improving our intelligence capabilities so that we know more about what people think and how they behave and how their behavior can be altered and what the capabilities are in this world.”

wow, can we do that from space? I thought that’s what the men in black and Scientologist were for.

People, there are energy crises from coast to coast of this country, the air is foul, the water is poison, and the republicans are back in office, many of them have served in office starting from Nixon (how old are these people!) and they know how to clear cut a forest and slant drill the fields. They know how to get you to believe that we need to spend billions on un-renewable sources of fuel that they can control the price. They get you to just not care how you get your heat and run your car. Solar energy and alternative fuel cars have been around for a long long time and you could implement this nationwide with a fraction of what it takes to launch a few test missiles that have yet to work in any test that have been performed.

Every single one of you need to really think about what you want this country to focus on. Wars in Space or Peace on Earth? It’s your money, folks, and I don’t want to hear one peep out of you when the lights are out and your bill is triple what it was a year ago.

I’ve seen the “Crossing Over” show from time to time with John Edwards. He talks to the dead and is supposedly stamped with a few University paranormal departments seal of approval. It’s a fluffy li’l entertainment piece that could benefit from a few bent spoons and a tamborine floating in the air. A woman who was left in a terrible financial state at her husbands demise wanted to tell him the dog doesn’t sleep and asked if he had stopped smoking. For heavens sake you welfare dumbshit, ask him for some winning lotto numbers!

I turned on “Survivor” which has much better taunting potential and forgot about the dead accept how I wished they all were.

But a few weeks letter I received an email from a shaken Rosaic who had just had another dream of the End Times. Rosaic has been correct in so many visions that I always give them top priority and much creedence.
with her permission I reprint her dream of the dead:

Rosaic’s Dream/Nightmare:
I was in the backyard, Ed and I had only been married a few days before and were planning on going for a Sedona Honeymoon in a few days.
But electronics and telephones were breaking worldwide, television was being taken over by “talking static” and we felt we had better stay put and see what was going on. Ed was going to go out and get us something for the trip and I begged him not to go but all of a sudden he was gone. I called the cellphone number and it was a party line of voices. Human voices and then there were voices that were anything but. Discordant, using all energy to get through but the more people talked back to them the stronger they became. I knew the veil of here and there was being breached and those on the other side were getting stronger, the vibrations of transmissions through television and phone lines were a rich conduit for entry. The air went cold and stale, the sky was darkening and screams the likes of which I have never heard accept on real life programs of women calling 911 as they were being beaten to death were so loud and reverberate that I could feel every syllable being tormented out of them in my bones.
Fearing terribly for Ed’s safety I got on my bike and rode to the store he would have been headed for. The streets had turned into chaos and bloody, brutal death. The dead were indeed back, and they had become so attuned with earth energy that they were barely discernable from their thug earth friends who they were sucking off of. I saw people ripped limb from limb, the cheers and glee from the living and dead hooligans was orgiastic.
The sky darkened more and the usual sign I have always had in previous visions, the palm of jesus in the sky, appeared, every line, every detail was visible. I knew it was time to go to the safe place. But where was my new husband? There was no way he could have survived this slaughter and I was thinking if I should find his body or become one myself when..honest to God, Buck, this is funny but I’m not making it up, Ed showed up in a bright red semi truck, biggest thing I have ever seen. He helped me up and as I was getting in he pointed out the picture of Art Bell he had attatched to the door and said that this would keep us safe til we got to where we were going. We drove away, I woke up extremely shaken, I’m still shaking. Don’t talk to the Dead, Buck! Tell everybody you know, this is not real, this is not good! The only ones coming back are the ones so filled with hate they weren’t allowed anywhere else and the stupid ones just follow the others.

I took this very seriously.

Then within the next few weeks my attention was drawn to just how many books, shows, and articles are being devoted to talking with the dead! The kicker came when the folks at Astrobella sent me the article about The Univerisity of Arizona conducting experiments of talking to the deceased. This is going on right now.
“A series of experiments at the University of Arizona has produced evidence that researchers say could indicate that some “mediums” might indeed be able to communicate with the dead.” (full article availabe by clicking on the link in the right column)

The Dead know alot. What else do they have to do but try to contact us and tell us what we want to know? And who knows the information flow where they are at? If the Akashic Records are real, a filing system of every deed, thought, belch, scratch, ever done by something living, everything that has ever happened on the earth and beyond is recorded and is freely accessible to those within reach, if this is true then any deviant spirit too hate filled to go on, or any complete idiot who was too stupid to see a big white light to go into, has access.
Consider how bored these entities are, and any bit of energy that comes their way is grabbed and gives them strength in this realm.

It’s alot like calling a New York payphone outside the subway and whoever answers you say “Is this My dead husband, Pete?” Chances are about 99 out of 100 hundred that they will indeed be Pete and ready to chat on your dime.
I believe this is just what happens when people are talking to the dead.

Now I don’t want to take away any bit of relief a grieving loved one gets by being assured that the darling departed are ok. Losing someone is the toughest thing a human can endure and hearing that the loved ones are fine is a great consolation.

But questions come to mind.

Why has this person not travelled on? Somebody who passed in 1949 is still hanging around ready for his Q&A ? Maybe the spirit, the energy is only that of the persona last left behind, maybe the soul has already reincarnated a few times. Maybe the dead are talking to themselves 50 years from now! Can you be a complete soul while travelling back and forth between heaven and earth? Is that not just for angels anymore?

I do not believe we are talking to who we think we are talking to. I think we are talking to hungry parasites looking for a host and there are far too many people willing to roll out the guest bed.

Folks, stop this. We only bridge the way for entities that want only what they wanted on earth. Base, disturbed, violent, stupid, entities that are between worlds and looking to get back in. Ignore the dead! Rebuke the dead. Or at the very least, for Christ’s Sake, ask them for the damn Super Lotto numbers.

I’m very interested in all of your thoughts on this subject and would appreciate you dropping me a line. The dead need not apply.

I’m Buck Huff, thanks for listening.

Art’s extended absence from the air begs the question: what’s he been up to over the last year? I’ve been monitoring Art’s activities, and in celebration of his return to public life I present the unabridged true story of Art’s retirement.

So what do you do when you’re in Nevada with no job and a late model Firebird? You go to Las Vegas! The free liquor alone is worth the trip, but on this trip Art had time for more. So he fulfilled one of his lifelong dreams and visited…The Star Trek Experience. Lots of folks these days are into that Next Generation crap, but not Art! Just like you and me, Art knows that there was only one Captain of the Enterprise…KIRK! So when it came time for souvenir photos, Art went for the understated elegance of the original series.

Of course, after a few weeks even the world famous Slots-O-Fun casino can lose some of it’s glamorous luster. Just as Art was thinking about heading home to Pahrump, Dame Fortune smiled upon him once again. While eating dinner at the five star Circus Circus buffet one night, he bumped into Fred Durst. It turns out that Durst is a big fan of Art’s hard hitting talk radio journalism. Coincidentally, Durst was thinking about following Art’s example and retiring at the height of his popularity. A few drinks later, the two of them hatched an ingenious plan: Art Bell would secretly replace Fred Durst on Limp Bizkit’s summer tour. Given the size of the venues on the tour, and the uncanny physical resemblence the two share, they reckoned that no one would even notice. This would give Durst the chance to “try out” retirement, and give Art a chance to live out some of his rock star fantasies. The deception worked flawlessly for several dates, and could have gone on indefinitely if it weren’t for Art’s tendency to ad-lib raps about anal probes, storable food, and prostate formulas. The band’s management forcibly removed Art from the tour bus one night outside of LA, and told Durst they would cut off his allowance if he didn’t rejoin the band.

Stranded in California with no money, and too proud to call Ramona for a ride home, Art did the only sensible thing he could: he tried out for Survivor II. Although Australia was even further from Pahrump than LA, Art figured he could get enough money to make it home if he could last at least two or three episodes. Since CBS was looking for unknowns, he lied and told them his name was Richard Hoagland. In no time at all, Art was on a Quantas flight to Sydney. Unfortunately, as Art and the rest of the Survivor group were waiting in the baggage claim area, they bumped into Peter Garrett, lead singer for Midnight Oil. Garrett, who mistook Art for Fred Durst, immediately launched into a diatribe about rock music’s oppression of women and the blatant commercialism of Limp Bizkit. A fistfight ensued, and Art wound up in a Sydney jail cell.

Imprisoned in a third world country, with only a CBS advance check that couldn’t even cover his bail, Art did the only sensible thing he could do…he used his one phone call to contact Premiere Radio and ask them if he could have his radio show back. Coast to Coast had languished after Art’s departure, and the network could see the writing on the wall. Coast to Coast with Art Bell is a winner; Coast to Coast with Mike Siegel isn’t. The only question was what to do about Siegel. He wouldn’t relinquish the show willingly…so the network would have to “persuade” him. During a late night strategy session, a plan was hatched…

Bail money was soon wired to Sydney, followed by a package containing various documents and Art’s secret instructions. Art was to lay low for a few days while Premiere set the stage for Siegel’s departure. Several Premiere executives made the trek to Seattle, to meet with Mike personally. “Mike, you’ve been doing one hell of a job with the show, and as a token of our appreciation, we’re giving you an all-expense paid vacation in beautiful Australia! Go take a couple of weeks off and bask in the glow of a job well done.” The next day, Siegel boarded a flight bound for Sydney.

After getting settled in, Siegel headed down to the hotel bar, where he bumped into Art sitting at a table with a couple of Aborigines. Drinks were ordered, and as Art launched into a description of a race of subterranian humanoid lizard-men living under the Australian Outback, Sigel was so transfixed he didn’t even notice the strange powder one of the Abos was discreetly adding to his drink. Several rounds later, Siegel was starting to see the lizard-men lurking in the dark corners of the bar. Soon, the group was headed out the door and into a waiting car, with Art driving and Siegel babbling incoherently in the back seat. Art and the Abos dropped Siegel off a few miles outside of town and headed for the airport, where a private jet waited to carry Art back to Pahrump. Siegel wound up spending his vacation in an Australian mental hospital, and ended up returning to America a day later than planned, allowing Premiere Radio to exercise an option buried deep in his contract and replace him with Art. Bad break for Mike Siegel, but an uncanny stroke of good luck for the rest of us. Art is back on the air, and all is right in the wee hours of the night.

What better way to celebrate the true millennium than with the triumphant return of Art Bell to the airwaves! Nothing against Mike Siegel, but how do you fill the shoes of a giant? Art brings a unique style and personality to the late night airwaves, and given the topics discussed on his show, his impartiality and willingness to let listeners decide for themselves provide a forum where guests feel comfortable discussing topics that would draw ridicule and derision almost anywhere else. This entices experts from both ends of the spectrum to step forward and wax eloquent upon their topic of choice. When the speaker is believable, the results are informative and fascinating; when they are obvious hoaxters or crackpots, hijinks ensue! Every imaginable topic from Mel’s hole to Art’s parts has been investigated thoroughly in the wee hours of the night. But Art’s show has never depended exclusively on guests; callers are also an integral part of the mix. From the ever present wildcard line to the specialty antichrist, vampire, ghost story, and cannibal lines, the phone calls of ordinary listeners provide laughter, tears, and a heaping dose of the drama that is the human condition. Art Bell isn’t the only host who can provide interesting guests and callers, but he does bring his mellifluous tones and dry wit to the proceedings on a nightly basis. Many listeners find Art’s voice a soothing sleep aid, providing information and entertainment as he lulls them to sleep. For every listener who loses sleep to catch Art Bell on the radio, there’s another who has been struck with insomnia since his retirement. Make no mistake: the sleep patterns of a nation hinge upon Art’s nightly broadcast! Please join me in welcoming Art Bell back into our lives and our ears, and may he never be taken from us again!

Ed, Rosaic and I like to do a sweatlodge trance channel right before the Winter Solstice to see if we need to head underground for New Year’s Destruction or continuing decking the halls and flocking the hogs. so to speak. This year was a pleasent get-together at the J&B Family Restaurant in Prescott, AZ and afterwards we drove under a UFO free desert sky to a Sacred Spot in Sedona aptly called “Blanca Dinero Hot Springs Sacred Spot”. You can’t miss it off of Highway 89-A since they bought an old Indian Casino neon billboard. You mostly can’t see Bill Cosby’s face anymore on it since they put the big kokopelli on an Aztec chocolate bar in the shape of a sundial. (Get the sweatlodge in the back for those of you who can read auras or else you’ll see nothing but red from the sign and diagnose everybody with constipation and repressed father issues.) We passed around the ancient tribal drinking cup that was two parts Fresca, one part liquid peyote, and 100 percent red man majick. After the initial “laughing” gateway experience to the other side we waited for one of us to contact the Elder Guide who would tell us of the coming year. Rosaic spoke of “riding the pink pig” through her animal totem but given her latest Oliver Platt infatuation we dismissed it. I spoke through a 14 year old indian girl coming into the full fruit of womanhood but was unable to get the full message and feel my new, young breasts at the same time. Finally after another round of dream potion Ed contacted the Elder guide and gave us our message. None of us can quite figure it out but it is our duty as journalists and pro-human advocates to pass it on to you in hopes that you can glean the meaning and enrich your lives.
We still don’t know if we are going underground or not. Maybe Vegas.

as channeled by Ed:

the city of the dead sleeps
while Art Bell Jr weeps
and Art Sr takes a leak
ask not for whom the urine flows
it flows for all of us
splashing through the sewers beneath Parumph
flowing under whorehouses where cattlemen hump
mingles with the circle K clerk’s dump
later he will stick the tanks
and vomit up the mad dog he drank
but we decide which is real booze
and which provides real absolution
-the moody booze

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I’m Buck Huff

Cassie Bernal may not have jutted her perky breasts out and proclaimed proudly “YES” to the question “Do you believe in God?” that Dylan Kebold asked her while pointing a gun in her face April 20, 1999 at Columbine High School. This would greatly reduce sales of the book “She Said Yes: the Unlikely Martyrdom of Cassie Bernall, by Missy Bernal, the mother.

Three unamed students are sticking to their story that the incident happened according to Chris Zimmerman, editor of The Plough Publishing House book, but Emily Wyant, 16, who was crouched under a table less than 2 feet from Bernall, said she never heard Klebold ask Cassie if she believed in God.

As with any tragedy there is money to be made and if you can recoup the losses of dead daughter who will be able to pay off the BMW in death why not? String together enough “evidence” of a high cabal reason for why those two kids went off the deep end and you have a shot on Hard Copy and Maury Povich for anniversary shows well into the next decade. You can use the “Hitler’s Birthday” as a sign they were Nazi’s, even though both Klebold and Harris were Jewish, and that they killed 13 people was a sure sign of satan, you have a far more entertaining read than two loner idiots got tired of snobs and life and the sinking suspicion that Rammstein was gayer than Rob Halford in a tutu.

Did Cassie and Klebold have this deadly exchange of ideology? I wasn’t there and that’s the only way I’m ever convinced of anything being true. If I had been there in the mythical circumstances I tell you what ol’ Buck would do. Some punk points his gun in my face and asks if I believe in God I’m going to say “nah, I’m a nihilist paratheologist into the existential Alexandrian methods of playing “Quake’”. When the little bastard is appeased that I’m one of them, I pull out my boot knife and let him find out about god by himself, then use what I can of his tiny virgin body as a shield for the other kid with a gun who I beat to death with his friend. And then I’m alive and kicking for another day of doing the lords work, not having my mommy write a snivelling fool book about how I wanted a leather jacket and that was my path to heroin and Baphomet before I found God and stared down the barrel of a gun til my eyes were in the back of a library without my head.

What did Cassie say?
Like my friend, Solo, told me today, “Cassie said ‘I’ll suck your dick if you kill my mother instead’”.

While watching “Space Ghost” the other night there was what I first thought was a goof commercial for a Barbie Doll. The overblown hair and Dachau waistline are d’rigeur and hardly worth being shocked over. It was Barbie’s eyes that caught my attention. Big globes of cock-eyed, unfocused, narcotized confusion set in a face that said “I don’t know and I don’t care.” “Glazed Over Barbie”, “Way Out of It Barbie”, “Being treated for Depression Barbie” would have been appropriate names for this piece of plastic with boobs and I waited for the punchline. There was none, this was a real commercial selling toys to our young daughters. (and perhaps boys but I don’t want to think about that now) The commercial ended and so did my interest. Until I saw an article the very next morning in the London Times about our water supply being possibly at risk from the thousands of pounds of drugs being excreted by the world wide bladders of humanity everyday. Prescription narcotics for anxiety, heart disease, high blood pressure, and particularly depression were high on the list of drugs that can go practically unaltered through the human body and into rivers, streams, and oceans. The serotonin raising drugs in particular, already blamed for killing off jillions of aquatic microbial life, are of grave concerns for many scientists who are not on a Chemical company payroll and can still be objective and probing in their work. Of course, these scientists don’t have the huge amount of dollars to do any kind of reasonable research, so they don’t really have anything substantial to say. “Just about everything people put into their mouth eventually gets into the water,” quipped Dr Christian Daughton, chief of environmental chemistry for the US Environmental Protection Agency. He learned that through science college. I learned that through outside plumbing in Colorado my first 11 years of life.

Now you are saying “Buck, get back to the Barbie doll boobies”. I’ll get back to her doper face…. In light of everybody soon to be on the serotonin highway to happiness via your tap water (and don’t think that bottled water is going to save you. Have you ever really investigated what gets filtered out of bottled water? very, very little) it’s going to be advantageous to get ready for a socially acceptable level of droop-eyed, slack-jawed, zombie’izm, and we are going to have to offer up more reinforcement than kite-high Farrah’s on Letterman. Television and movies are still run by Betty Ford graduate’s who are programmed to target and point out a whacko Minnelli at fifty paces. And the new crop of twenty something greedsters coming up have Nancy Reagan still ringing in their ears “Just say no” . The new age has told us all to take responsibility for our every illness and that depression is our own fault, we don’t need drugs we need to get rid of our stinkin’ thinkin’. Years and years of one faction or the other decrying the use of drugs has never stopped anybody one bit from running to the doctors and getting a prescription. (who *isn’t* on some prescription these days?) We will take and take and take anything we can get our hands to make us feel better. But we sure dont’ want anybody to know about it. We try to hide that “look”. That look that says “I needed a li’l help on this stumbling block of life”. That Barbie doll look. And as more and more of us get “the look” we’ll need to have the acceptance of the masses to not call for an immediate boycott of all prescription drugs It’s imparitive for the drug companies to have total “I don’t know and I don’t care” acceptance. Because unless Pfeizer and Upjohn and the lot start treating your nature calls like plutonium and bag it and bury it in the desert, which would be one hell of a dent in the profits, somebody is going to make enough noise to put the brakes on toxic urine and it’s causes (if there is anybody left sober enough to do such a thing but that’s a whole other chapter that could be entitled “Trilateral Commision meets the Masons underground in Munich”).

“Fix the dang sewers, Buck!” Can’t. What we have now is woefully inadequate to keep a head size rat out. The only thing keeping you from typhoid is chlorine. Lots and lots of chlorine. but it doesn’t affect the drug run-off. (Flouride is a drug by the way. Flouride, intentionally added to your water. YOU voted to have it added to your water. You think you are preventing cavities but you are ingesting a drug that is classified as a depressant. A sedated populace is a happily controlled populace. The insurance companies only gave up cavity revenue in exchange for 201 cures for cancers being suppressed) Nope, we are all taking the bullet-train to Lobotomy River and going in for a dip. Barbie’ism will grab each and everyone who does not have their own water filtration specifically designed to get out these drugs. And nobody knows what gets out these drugs. So take a good look at Barbie’s face. Aquaint yourself, brace yourself for “the look” of the future. Today.

Out of the bunker just in time for the Doomsday line-up of planets in Taurus. May 3 through the 5 is the alignment of 7 out of the ten planets in the constellation Taurus. An earth sign that could mean earthquakes, volcanoes, tornadoes…the end of the earth as we know it. I don’t care. I’m not going back into that bunker. Not ever again. Potted meat and dust particles called potatoes three times a day, no tv or radio, converting urine into potable water, the lack of mastubatory privacy all sounds very romantic and exciting but when it comes down to it, it’s just so much Somerset Maughm “must be nice” fantasy.

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Ever notice Christians righteously going around observing Holidays that fall on pagan days calculated through astronomy, lighting incense, drinking wine that represents blood, a wafer that represents flesh, and not think that they have anything in common with throw-rocks-at-moon heathen darkies living in the deepest depths of the world? I was watching Joyce Meyer making quite alot of fun of people who “palm read” and “worship” trees. Well, worshipping *at* a living tree makes far more sense than worshipping a dead tree that has been fashioned into a murder weapon for their lamb patting saviour. If as above so below then it stands to reason that the mythical heaven above will be as diverse as our sour little dirt clod planet below. Get ready for me to be in your neighborhood, Joyce, above AND below.

I’m Buck Huff and I’m going to vegas.

Art Bell has announced his retirement once again, and this time he really means it. Really! Really really really! Personally, I’m not sure whether to believe it or not. Art has been raking in the dough from his writing career, and with The Coming Global Superstorm, I think he’s finally hit upon a winning formula: lend his name and some ideas to a professional author who can reap much greater sales with Art’s name on the cover as a collaborator. If he continues to work with pros like Whitley Strieber, he can easily turn out two or three books a year with a minimal amount of work. So what is Art planning to do with his spare time? Well, I imagine he’ll take some time off to spend with his son and pursue his litigation against WWCR in Nashville, but I have reason to believe there’s another motive. Word has it that this season will be the last for The X-files, and producer Chris Carter is planning to apply the Star Trek model to the franchise: produce movies with the original cast, and create a spin-off show to keep the X-files name on TV. What does this have to do with Art? He’s slated to star in X-files: Groom Lake 9! Human-alien relations have reached a turning point, and the show’s characters will be dealing with the delicate business of building a bridge between the species. The show is slated to premiere next season on the WB network. Here’s a rundown of the cast:

Art Bell stars as Special Agent Art Mulder, Fox Mulder’s long lost uncle. The character will be introduced in the finale of the original X-files show. Tori Spelling co-stars as Special Agent Brandi Alexander, Art’s partner. Together, they patrol the Groom Lake beat in a talking UFO (voiced by James Earl Jones). Lance Henrickson plays General Vince Carter, the crusty but loveable commanding officer at Area 51. Art will also play The Smoking Clone, Agent Art Mulder’s evil twin.

I’ll be posting more info about X-files: Groom Lake 9 here as soon as they become available. Meanwhile, if you have suggestions, story ideas, or even scripts for the show, send them here and we’ll forward them to Chris Carter!