Diagnosis: Czechs and Poles are just neighborhood skank who fluff
whichever master drives the fastest car, which for now happens to be the West, but might
once again be Russia. Who really gives a fuck.
STOOL SAMPLE #8:
The return of the anti-nuclear hippies
Characteristics: Fibrous, light-brown
Stool sample analysis: Like the old poster says: If nuclear war is bad
for two things, it's children and other living things. And if the threat of nuclear war is
bad for one thing, it's the sex lives of eXile editors. The strange and unforeseen turns in
popular culture since the end of the Cold War have been very generous to The eXile,
knocking crusty peacenik types into the joke bargain bin and elevating misanthropic nerds
like us to something like, if not heroes, then at least people worth having sex with.
Somehow nerds became cool amidst the nuclear amnesia of the 90s, and we're not interested
in finding out if it was the lack of a superpower standoff that made it possible. But it's
a good theory anyway.
Among other things, the return of a long nuclear shadow over the culture will mean the
return of hemp-pants hippies stepping to the mic with "10 Facts About Fallout" - and then
walking away with the hottest three trekker chicks at the demo. Anti-social punks and
dark-edged dorks like us will be back to cranking Holiday in Cambodia in our basement
apartments, while peace-sign flashing grad students named Brad with golden locks tucked
behind their ears will be reaping the Zeitgeist rewards at a Dave Matthews "Stop the New
Arms Race" benefit concert. To paraphrase Bertrand Russell, we'd rather crawl to Washington
on our hands and knees than live through that shit again. Or die in a blaze of blast wave
To paraphrase another old placard, we need to stop the next Cold War before it starts.
Or spend the rest of our short lives masturbating and screwing chubby goth chicks.
Diagnosis: God help us all.
STOOL SAMPLE #9:
Characteristics: Hard and Pebbly
This steaming $100 billion Mt. Rushmore of shit has been providing brown props for
history's most expensive and longest running scat comedy: the Missile Defense System. Set
against the exotic backdrops of the Pentagon, Alaska, and the Pacific ocean, the film stars
the Department of Defense as the diarrheic "Big Mamma," who deposits her voluminous fecal
matter into buckets for Boeing, who then brings them to life, Fantasia-like, for its
subcontracting scat-fiend friends Lockheed Martin, Raytheon and Orbital Sciences. Once
available only on obscure German websites, "Missile Defense" can now be seen by anyone with
a brown-stuff fetish, including American taxpayers, who pay for the crap.
Diagnosis: Expect a new ABM treaty in the next few years, and to have
it broken every four years thereafter.
STOOL SAMPLE #10:
Russia rediscovering national identity through reliving lost Cold War
Characteristics: the kind of shit that sticks to the sides of
Analysis: One of the greatest scenes in the Rambo trilogy comes at the
beginning of the first sequel. Colonel Trautman visits the chain gang where John Rambo is
smashing rocks to tell him about a mission to rescue POW's in Vietnam. Rambo is
noncommittal, but as Trautman is walking away, Rambo pipes up: "Hey, Colonel!" Trautman
slowly turns around. Rambo: "Do we get to win this time?"