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Unfiled September 6, 2002
Dr. Dolanís Torture Tips
Practical Solutions to Your "People Problems" By John Dolan Browse author Email

Dear Dr. Dolan,

It's this Bono guy. He's like the worst possible combination of conceited popstar and mealy-mouthed Irish priest. Those gross videos of him trying to shake his 50-year-old booty, and kissing the camera in lame yellow shades, are bad enough -- but when I switch from MTV to CNN, there he is again, posing at some conference with goat people and dignitaries. He was around before I was born and it looks like he's not going away, ever. What can I do?


Dear Jason,

If I had a nickel for every time somebody asked me this question...well, I'd have a pile of coins so big I could melt them into a puddle and pour it slowly over Bono's face in the shape of those yellow shades. That might make an interesting commentary on his work -- very arty. Oh, the things you could do with Bono!

But the trick with a celebrity is catching him. Bono may dress like a bum, hug every leper in sight, and moan like a victim, but he's sure to have ten discreet, expensive bodyguards watching out for him every time he leaves his mansion. You need to get him alone, so you can take him somewhere nice and quiet to work on him at your leisure.

Here's what you do: buy a dozen or so African kids (they're cheap and readily available in most Middle-Eastern markets) and feed them lightly till they're good and gaunt. Then take some polaroids of the Africans looking hungry. (Note: every torturer should have a polaroid! Photomat has caught more torturers than the FBI ever did!) Send the pix to Bono with a note saying that if he doesn't hurry over to your place to hug these starving Africans right now, Bob Geldof will get to them first and steal the photo op. And tell him to come alone -- the starving Africans won't pose with him if there are other people around.

Believe me, he'll be there faster than Dorozhnii Patrul. One knock on the head and he's yours. Take him down to your soundproofed basement and....use your imagination. The molten-metal sunglasses would be a good starter. Then you could nail his tongue to a table and make him sing the Wolfe Tones' entire repretoire. For an encore, I'd suggest you saw off his feet and make him do those stiff-arm Riverdance jigs on his raw, bloody shins.

And don't forget to send plenty of Polaroids of your work to the tabloids! There are tens of millions of us out here waiting and hoping!

The last question to consider is what to do with the subject once his entertainment value has been drained. I'm generally op-posed to killing victims -- it gives them an easy way out -- but in Bono's case, I'm afraid there's no alternative. Far too many people will be looking for him. All it takes is one squeal of agony reaching the neighbors, one phone call to the cops, and your career as torturer is over. Worse still, Bono already thinks he's Christ and would love to parade around the world exhibiting his wounds. He might not be able to see the cameras (what with having his eyes burned out by molten coins), but he'd hear them clicking, and that alone would make him happy.

You can't let that happen. To make it impossible for Bono to play Christ, you must do two things:

1. Get him to confess his sins -- ALL his sins -- before killing him. Every underage groupie he ever fucked and booted out in the middle of the night, every friend whose phone number he conveniently forgot once he was famous, every drug he ever did and denied using, every girlfriend he let get busted carrying his stash through Customs, every cent he ever invested offshore while lecturing the world about poverty...all of it. It'll take days for him to go through his sins, so stock lots of videotape.

2. And then he needs to be put to bed under the concrete. That's what concrete is for. If he rises from the dead after three days, we'll all have to admit we were mistaken. But trust me: he'll rot like the pig he is, nice and quiet under the garage floor.

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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscowís Traffic Cops
Automotive Section
We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

Eleven Years of Threats: The eXile's Incredible Journey
Feature Story By The eXile
Good Night, and Bad Luck: In a nation terrorized by its own government, one newspaper dared to fart in its face. Get out your hankies, cuz we’re taking a look back at the impossible crises we overcame.

Your Letters
Russia's freedom-loving free market martyr Mikhail Khodorkovsky answers some of this week's letters, and he's got nothing but praise for President Medvedev.

Clubbing Adventures Through Time
Club Review By Dmitriy Babooshka
eXile club reviewer Babooshka takes a trip through time with the ghost of Moscow clubbing past, present and future, and true to form, gets laid in the process.

The Fortnight Spin
Bardak Calendar By Jared Lindquist
Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

Your Letters
Richard Gere tackles this week's letters. Now reformed, he fights for gerbil rights all around the world.

13 Toxic Talents: Hollywoodís Worst Polluters
America By Eileen Jones
Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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