EVERYBODY PANIC!

October 19, 2009

Klowns To The Left Of Me, Jokers To The RightSO FIFTY DAYS BEFORE GLOBAL WARMING DESTROYS US ALL! MANOLO! GET KISSINGER ON THE PHONE, AND THEN GET TO THE GUBERNATORIAL CHOPPERTM! DO IT NOWTM! WE’RE GOING TO VEGAS, BABY!

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Kontrol

October 16, 2009

KontrolSo AB962 was not my idea. I’ve tried to veto three similar bills since 2004. But Saturday afternoon, I was sitting in my tent, chugging away happily on a stogie, and Kissinger walks in with these sad, puppy-dog eyes, and then he starts giving me some sob story about how him and his cocksucker buddies are scared that people are starting to get pissed off with them, and might start a revolution or something, so we have to start cutting off their access to bullets.

I told him it was a stupid idea. If someone wants to get their hands on some lead for their shiny piece badly enough, there’s nothing much I can do about it. And the black market will just grow to accomodate whatever we’re trying to stop.

But he’s a stubborn, old bastard. He told me if I didn’t sign it, he wouldn’t invite me to the booze-up at Bohemian Grove. And I didn’t want to miss out on the naked women dancing round the fire chanting to Moloch. Citizens of Kalifornia, I apologize for pissing on your already tattered constitution. My hands were tied.

Free Fallin’

October 15, 2009

Free Fallin'So you really have to admire Barry’s commitment to peace. Our hero and saviour. Do you people even realise how far we’ve come in forty short years? JFK told the world that we would never start a fight without provocation; today, if we want something, we just make some shit up and then go in an take it. In 1969, the world was united, if only for a moment, because one of our own was the first to walk on the moon; a few days ago, we tried to blow it up, and people just laughed. This is free fall, boys and girls, and you’re all sitting at the front of the roller coaster. Where’s it gonna go from here?

I Love It When A Plan Comes Together

October 14, 2009

I Love It When A Plan Comes TogetherSo this is how Kissinger and his good buddies at the Bacon Double Bilderburgers use Global Bullshit Mongering to tax the living shit out of you. You can thank your local brain-dead hippies Climate Change Crusaders for their part in all this. We really couldn’t have done it without their blind faith and vocal support. And coming up next: a breathing out tax! That’s right! Every time you breathe out and add a little bit more carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, we’ll charge you a dollar! HATM HATM HATM! It’s gonna be fantastic. Hey, we’re doing it for the planet. We’re doing it because we care.

Parlour Tricks, Puppetry And Prizes

October 13, 2009

Parlour Tricks, Puppetry And PrizesSo Norwegians, you are all choir boysTM and girlie menTM. Kissinger deserved his silly little trophy back in ’73. A lot of good people died by his pen. Barry’s just a sweet guy who’s in over his head. Leave the man alone, okay? He’s embarrassed enough with the whole “President” thing as it is. And oh yeah, call me when it’s my turn. I’m right hereTM. In my office. By the phone. It will mean so much to me, HATM HATM HATM! Bozos.

Global Bullshit Mongering

October 12, 2009

Global Bullshit MongeringSo apparently you people aren’t as dumb as that asshole Kissinger thought, and are starting to figure out that global warming is complete BULLSHITTM! Citizens of Earth, we’re gonna need another reason apocalypse to raise more tax dollars to protect you all from, before I take control of this stupid little planet in 2012. Manolo’s in the lab right now with that limey bastard Murdoch, trying to cook up some more stories. Something believeable this time. I told them to go with an ancient, underground race of giant, rampaging elephants that shoot fire-breathing wasps out of their trunks and will one day reawaken to exact their violent revenge on mankind, HATM HATM HATM! Murdoch said he’d think about it.

Kalifornia Burning

September 15, 2009

KaliforniaSo Manolo managed to lose the Chevy at the next junction. I couldn’t risk going to the airport now. My meeting with Karl would have to wait. Kalifornia was krumbling around me, and if Paul’s suspicions were on the mark, someone – or something – else was out to get me. I had to lay low for a while and reassess the situation.

Everything I’ve learned in life comes from bodybuilding. You don’t stop. You never give up. You push on through the pain barrier until you’re hurting and bleeding and almost destroyed, and then when you think you’re about to die you look around and you see that you’re the last one standing. You’re the winner. It takes guts to be winner.

But the scale of what’s going on at the moment is just too much. Kalifornia, the Golden State, is turning into hell itself. The budget deficit was $20 billion this summer, and my advisors are telling me that it will reach $40 billion by the next. And I know what I’m going to be forced to do, and I know that it’ll just make the situation worse.

State services will have to take cuts. Teachers and firefighters will lose their jobs, prisoners will be released early from jail, and some of the poorest and most vulnerable in Kalifornia will have their benefits slashed. CROM help us.

All I wanted to do was build hydrogen fuel stations and give you universal health care, goddammit! And now some bastards want to drill for oil off the coast near Santa Barbara… what the fuck am I supposed to do? The state needs money and those evil pricks are dangling it in front of my face! EEEYYYAAARRRGGGHHHTM!!!

Maybe Paul was right. Maybe someone is gunning for me. But who could it be? And why? They’re destroying my super smash-hit box office movies. They’re destroying my state. And with every passing day they’re destroying my chances of becoming President of the Universe in 2012. What the fuck do they want from me?

There is only one thing to do. Manolo is still driving, taking the side streets back to the house in case we meet our friends in the black Chevy again. I turn to him.

“Manolo,” I say.

“Si?”

“Pray with me.”

“Si.”

“In silence.”

CROM, I have never prayed to you before. I have no tongue for it. No one, not even you will remember if we were good men or bad, why we fought, or why we died. No, all that matters is that two stood against many, that’s what’s important. Valor pleases you, CROM, so grant me one request, grant me REVENGE! And if you do not listen, THEN TO HELL WITH YOU! EEEYYYAAARRRGGGHHHTM!!!

The Road To Rove

September 14, 2009

The Road To Rove

So I am on my way to the airport and then off to Florida. Rove has a home there and we are going to meet and discuss the campaign. Karl’s really insistent about keeping this whole campaign business very hush-hush. I’m sitting in the passenger seat in one of my more low-key rides, smoking a cigar and doing Sudoku while Manolo drives.

The thing that not a lot of people know about Karl is that he works best at night, shrouded in darkness and secrecy, listening to the sound of rain and thunder, and the frightened screams of innocent children that he’s recorded and transfered onto vinyl. He’s the slimiest bastard alive, and I need him on my side. I don’t have a choice.

But there’s something else. Just before I left the house I’d gotten a call from my old buddy Paul Verhoeven. I like Paul. He’s a simple guy with simple tastes. He’s into big guns and tits, and he’s very open and honest about it. For a guy trying to make a living in Hollywood, that’s very refreshing.

“Arnold? It’s Paul. Can you talk?”

“Sure buddy, what’s up?”

“I just got the news. The fucking bastards are remaking Total Recall.”

“Paul, buddy, don’t be ridiculous. No one’s remaking our super-smash-hit box office movie Total Recall. I mean, think about it, I’m not even dead yet! And what the fuck are they gonna call it? Total Remake? HATM HATM HATM!”

“Dude, listen to me. They’re doing it.”

“Who’s doing it?”

“Columbia.”

“So who’s behind it?”

“I don’t know. And no one’s talking. Spielberg, Lucas… no one’s returning my calls. I gave them Sharon Stone’s tits in 35mm and they’re my best friends. Now I need something from them, and they don’t know me. Bunch of fuckers.”

“Paul, relax. It’s just another shitty remake. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not just another shitty remake. People are keeping their mouths shut because they’re scared. Someone’s got to them.”

“You’re being paranoid. Who the hell would do something like that?”

“My guess is it’s the same bastards behind the shitty Terminator TV series, and the new shitty Terminator sequels, and the impending shitty Predator reboot. Fucking McG. Fucking Rodriguez. They’re just tools. This is just the beginning, Arnold. They’re gonna do it to everything you’ve ever made, everything you love and hold dear to your heart. The Running Man, Commando, Red Heat, Conan…”

“No. Not Conan…”

“Someone’s gunning for you, pal. You’ve done something to piss them off, and now they’re letting you know. You’re at the center of it all, baby. This is all about you.”

“…”

“Arnold, you still there?”

“Yeah Paul, sorry, still here. So what do you think I should do?”

“Nothing, yet. We need to find out who these bastards are. I’ll keep making calls and asking around. Someone’s gonna talk, sooner or later.”

“All right. Be careful.”

“I will. Watch your back, pal.”

“Thanks buddy.”

The conversation is still weighing heavily on my mind, because Paul is the last person in the world to be spooked by anything. I once saw him face down a gang of heroin mules in Oaxaca with nothing but a broken mescal bottle and a hooker’s stiletto high heel. Something doesn’t feel right.

The Dodge is fast approaching a red light up ahead. “Manolo – don’t stop – run the light.”

“Que?” Manolo asks, making puzzled eye contact through the rear-view mirror.

“Run the fucking light.” Manolo speeds through the intersection and I turn to look over my shoulder to see if anyone is following. I’m surprised to see a black Chevy Blazer accelerate to follow us through it.

I take a deep pull from my cigar. What the fuck is happening?

Blazing A Trail

September 11, 2009

Blazing A TrailSo today I get a phone call from Lou Ferrigno. I am really glad he does not hear so well because I am always with the giggling while on the phone with him. I swear, the man sounds like a big burly Elmer Fudd.

“Hi Awnowld, this iws Lou.” he blurts out.

“Lou, who?” I ask, like I can’t already tell.

“Lou FAWIGNO!” he says, louder this time like I’m the one who can’t hear.

That voice! I go to pieces. Some ash from the Cohiba Behike that I’ve been smoking falls onto my custom cut Hugo Boss jacket. Scheiße!

“Whas so fuwnny Awnold? I cawn hea you lawfing.”

Damn. I forget  he can hear a little bit now since hearing aids are going to the digital, or something. I always feel a little uncomfortable when Lou pouts. Last time he caught on that I was making fun of him I felt so bad that he talked me into a trip to China to watch the Special Olympics.

Trying not to sound too distracted while still brushing ash from myself: “Oh, sorry Lou. I’m just watching Kindergarten Cop. Did you know that aside from being one of the highest paid supersmashhitboxofficemovie stars of all times, I can also mix it up and do comedy? It’s amazing, really…” I now get up from my desk and begin to take my jacket off. That fucking oaf, this suit cost more than his cochlear implant. EEEEYYYYAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHTM!

I drape mein jacket over the bust of former Gov. Peter Burnett that sits in the corner of  the Governor’s office. Whenever Uncle Teddy used to come visit I would tell him it was Mark Twain.

“Awnowld, I was thinging the owther day abowt how you awre gowing to become the pwesident of the Univewse in 2012, and thewn I was thinging abowt how evewry prwesident needs a viwce pwesident…” kind of trailing off there, hoping I’ll catch his meaning.

After an uncomfortable pause: “Oh, um, geez, about that Lou…” I’m scrambling to make up something. “I’ve – I’ve already picked my running mate,” then, with inflection and sincerity, “I’m very sorry.” (I’m doing the emotionally empathetic bit I learned while filming Junior).

“Oh… you hawve?” he says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yeah, big guy. I’m sorry. Mebbe next time?” I’m really hamming it up now, baby talking to him like I do with Maria’s cat. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the office window. I immediately become erect. I begin cooing to myself in a quiet, soothing voice: “Arnold, mein Säugling, you’ve still got it.” I am now crooking the phone in my shoulder and flexing a curled bicep.

“Diwd you say somging Awnold?” Lou asks akwardly.

“No, not at all, Lou.” I say, straightening up and smoothing out my shirt. “Anyhow, Lou, I’ve got a very busy schedule, with ze budget crisis and all. I’m afraid I have to let you go now, the people of Kalifornia cannot wait.”

“Wha-” he starts.

“Illegal immigration and ze housing crisis!” I blurt out. I quickly hang up before he can start to object.

Lou Ferrigno, Vice President of the Universe? Can you imagine? Nobody would go for that. I mean, the man sounds fucking ridiculous. Can you picture what a joke that would be, going around everywhere pronouncing things all wrong with that stupid voice? HATM HATM HATM.

I am all the sudden very aware that I have never given a vice president any thought, or even who a good campaign manager might be. I begin to pace a little, becoming slightly less sure of myself. I look down and am disappointed to find that my erection is now gone.

I am reminded of my unprecedented blockbuster hit, Total Recall, where I start losing my grip on reality. Who can I trust? To whom can I turn? My thoughts start to drift, and I begin absent-mindedly chewing on the butt of my stogie.

I’m suddenly back in 1990 – on the set again in Mexico. That’s where I met Manolo, actually. I drugged him up and smuggled him back in to the country in one of the tires of my Hummers.

Now I’m seeing myself again in my trailer banging the Martian girl with the three titties. I smile as I once again see her paper mache brüste flopping up and smaking her in the face as I screw her…

Screw… SCREW!

By CROM! I suddenly know what I have to do. I reach into my pocket and begin to dial. The phone rings once and and is almost immediately picked up. I can hear heavy breathing on the other end and am already picturing his pasty pug face – ugly, like the Devil’s.

There’s no turning back now.

“Karl? This is Arnold. We’ve got a campaign to plan, baby.”

Think About It

September 10, 2009

Think About ItSo I’m launching a new initiative here in Kalifornia. With all the rampant wildfires our state experiences, the costs of rebuilding can be enormous. Insurance companies are hurting, and the cost of paying out expensive premiums on multi-million dollar homes is proving be a serious burden.

From now on, instead of rewarding people whose homes continue to burn, year after year – I propose this: we start rewarding those whose homes don’t burn. If we continue to reward failure with windfall insurance settlements, where is the motivation to not have your home go up in flames? We need to bring the innovation brought to our nation’s schools to bear to save our nation’s suburbs. We need to end the barbaric practice of predatory home burnings and start to reward those whose homes don’t burn.

We need to bring common sense politiks back to Kalifornia, and end this cycle of failure.