Dry Rot and a Consideration of Our Terrestrial Prospects

purelyspeculation“Your house has dry rot.”

There is no phrase more dreadful to a home-owner. It’s a terrible verdict—an indictment which carries a sentence of severe financial and emotional penalties.

‘Dry Rot’, also known as ‘Brown Rot Decay’ (Link), is a fungal infection of wood which eats away at the parts which give the wood its strength and stability. It starts as a simple spore. But exposed to sufficient moisture, the spores grow and spread, infesting the wood and eventually flowering to produce new spores. The infection only grows from there—compromising the integrity of the wood and causing significant problems for the longevity of even the best built houses.

The funny things about Dry Rot, and that which it shares with so many other potentially catastrophic conditions, is that for the most part it’s pretty easy to ignore. When it’s merely a collection of spores, it can appear as a collection of fine orange dust. Sweep it away, and go about your day.

As the spores grow, they will take on the appearance of fine white strands, stretching over the surface as they continue to spread the infection. But this too can be passed off—rationalized as spider webs, dust, or a litany of other excuses which don’t require significant financial investment to address.

It’s no different from a chest pain passed off as gas, or an engine rattle excused as debris.

…Or overwhelming scientific evidence of ‘Global Climate Change’ passed off as liberal hysteria.

The thing is, it’s an easy urge to understand; among the easiest. When faced with something too big to comprehend or too threatening to deal with, our first and most natural inclination is denial. After all, why stress over some distant potentiality when it can as easily be brushed off with a flippant ‘it’ll be ok’.

With Dry Rot, this can be a fatal mistake.

Often considered a cancer to buildings, if left untreated, Dry Rot spreads rapidly through timber, eating it away until it is deteriorated to the point of crumbling between the fingers. For a building, this clearly can cause significant problems. With sufficient warning and proper treatment, the infection can be isolated and cured. But if the Dry Rot makes its way to structurally integral wood, the entire building may be lost.

The prognosis then is simple—act fast to fix the problem, or risk having nowhere to live.

For any informed decision-making adult, the choice is abundantly clear. It seems almost self-evident that when faced with a choice between an untimely demise (or in this case, homelessness), or an admittedly costly investment, there should be little choice remaining—take the hit, but save the whole.

But even in the case of illness, humans have a way of rationalizing away what’s important in defense of what’s comfortable. We ignore the complaints of an ailing body, but lament when we learn our neglect has caused greater harm.

We see the same thing with our world. As technology has grown and society has evolved, so too have the conditions to which we’ve exposed this planet of ours. Just like a home-owner ignoring the damp, dark places of his house, we’ve gone on our merry way, oblivious to the potential effects as our lifestyles have caused sky-rocketing atmospheric carbon-dioxide levels.

Now, the evidence is irrefutable (Source). The climate is changing. The ice caps are melting (Source). Even if most of us have not yet detected the rust-like dust of its impending arrival, the inevitable decree of an environment neglected for too long is slowly making itself known. The rot has set in!

Yet still, denial is omnipresent. Even when we’re rational enough to admit something is wrong, we eschew any responsibility, choosing instead to bury our heads in the sand. In a disturbing instance of this ‘Wait and See’ mentality, the US Senate recently acknowledged that the climate is changing, but fell short of acknowledging that humans are responsible. (Source). In doing so, they served also to rule out the logical conclusion that humans must start working on a solution.

But this is still among the better reactions. Far more depressing, there are countless sources (most of them supported by big oil, or other environmentally destructive enterprise—Source) clamouring to attribute the rumbling of disaster to mere myth. With a glib grin they point to a snowy field, overwhelming proof in their simple minds of the misguided nature of such ‘sci-fi’ notions.

But this is tantamount to the homeowner wrapping a fist against his kitchen counter to prove that Dry Rot has not infested his foundation. It’s an ignorant knee-jerk reaction at best. At worst, it is an intentional misdirection motivated strictly by greed. In the case of climate change, I’m inclined to suspect the latter.

In truth, we’ve waited far too long already. The rot has set in, and the question is no longer whether this might be a threat, but rather how bad it is, and more importantly, what our prospects are from here.

Ultimately, we don’t know. A good guess would be: ‘bad’, but guesses aren’t worth much in a scenario like this. Action is what counts. The first action—as with any well-implemented endeavour—is to understand fully the extent and prognosis of the problem itself. To this end we must turn to science. Instead of trying to shirk responsibility for this impending travesty—although there is certainly much blame to be placed—we should be investing research dollars into finding real solutions.

It’s time to take a good look at this home of ours, and start a discussion about how to salvage it. This will require immediate and likely extreme changes—not limited to the consideration of seeking resources elsewhere in the universe. It is an expensive notion, no doubt, but the alternative is to let the foundation crumble to the rot; which would mean finding ourselves homeless in a universe that is exceptionally inhospitable to such arrangements.

-Brad OH Inc.

Yours Truly

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

I’ve missed you.

I know that may come as a surprise, given my apparent absence. But you’ll have to trust that I’ve held you close in my thoughts, no matter how distant I may have seemed at times.

And it certainly has been a while, I won’t deny it. I’ve been quite busy, although explaining the nature of my work might be a little too heavy at the moment. But you’ve been busy too. Yes, you certainly have. Things have changed around here, even more than I might have imagined.

Not all for the worse mind you. No, I’ve seen some things since my return that have brought a much needed smile to my face—and that’s a rare thing indeed these days, I confess. The decoration I’m a bit split on, but there’s a lot beyond that to appreciate. You’ve had some great ideas, no doubt about it, and there have been moments when you really lived up to your potential.

…It’s just that they’re so damn rare.

Part of it may be my fault, I know—I’ve been derelict in my duties. In truth, I’d been hoping my presence was no longer quite so imperative.

I see now that I was misled. You’ve had a rough go of it lately. It’s hard to say where it all started to go wrong, but it’s far gone now, and it’s time we faced the truth.

I’ll start by apologizing once more for my distance. You deserved some assurance that I still remembered my promise. More importantly, you clearly needed it.

If I’m being entirely honest—and I am, without fail—I actually thought I’d left you with enough to get by. I gave you my word, and I told you everything you needed to know. I tried to make it as simple as I could, but even the clearest instructions grow blurry with the passage of time. And it has been a long time, to say the least.

You must have known I’d be watching though. If not, you should have.

I watched as you forgot who your family was, and turned your back on all the things which really mattered. I saw when you began to use me as a source of justification rather than strength. That’s really what hurt me the most.

What we had was a beautiful thing; at least I thought it was. But you’ve let your passion ferment into a bitter brew, and the intoxication it caused within you has become a blight on everything we once had. We never used to be about the fancy things, but now it’s all you seem to remember about me.

When I first laid eyes on you, I couldn’t help but adore your every fault. All your naïve desires were a wonder to me, and I revelled in your successes and failures alike, as each one made you more and more…you. The way you could be so content in your own head, the way you appreciated everything around you. I lived vicariously through you in some ways, and I adored your passion for creation. I could see myself in that.

But you’re so angry now, so defensive. It seems like whenever my name comes up, you’re ready for a battle. The constant anger is shocking—it’s almost like you wanted to keep me away. Things are different I know, but you can handle it without the blood and teeth and bile. I know you can, because I know you.

Still, I don’t blame you for being bitter. You needed more from me, when I only wanted you to find your own way. You called my name, and I didn’t answer. I tell myself that you needed to learn for yourself, but I know that’s only half true.

I’m not sure what I intended by reaching out again. When I left, I was certain that things could never change between us. Now, I only wish they could once more. You’ve grown unwieldy in my absence, and managed to become something entirely detestable to me. But it works two ways, and I know in truth that the change was at least in part because of my absence.

So what to do now?

It comes down to needs, I suppose. Needs, and wants. I want things to go back to how they were, but I know it’s unlikely. What do you want from me? I can scarcely imagine. Some assurance? Some comfort? I can offer neither. The road is long and hard, and I cannot carry you for all of it.

Maybe the cause is the cure as well. If nothing else, I’d like you to speak of me without the rage, without the need to do battle in the vainglorious hope of proving to others what you doubt in yourself. If that’s too much, then I’d rather you not speak of me at all.

Forget about me.

That’s all I can ask now.

We had a good run together. Great even, at times. But it’s clear we’re beyond each other now. The longer you hold onto the past, the greater damage you do to your present, and I worry that your time is growing short.

So let me go. Just pretend I never existed. Forget my words and burn my letters. Tell yourself you never needed me. Scream from the mountains that you’d be better off without me, that you are beautiful and worthy and glorious just because you are.

…Because you are.

Please, don’t ever forget it. And more import still, please don’t prove me wrong.

Yours Truly…

-Brad OH Inc.

The ‘Jenga’ Analogy

purelyspeculationEarlier this week, I found myself playing a friendly game of Jenga. Well, not entirely friendly perhaps—it was naturally filled with all the taunting and tension so common to the game.

With each log I drew from the base with tremulous fingers, I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched the tower teeter and totter back and forth. But when it finally found its balance once more, the work was only halfway done.

After a brief period of respite marred only by a victorious sneer at my young opponent, it was time for me to finish my task. With the newly liberated block held delicately between my fingers, I raised it up and let it hover a moment above the top of the now lopsided and treacherous monstrosity we’d created.

Finally, I took a deep breath in and held it. The careful extraction was not my victory, for now I had to place the block on top—hoping against hope that the imbalance I had done to the tower’s base would not prove fatal.

Sadly, my hopes were dashed, and the tower came crumbling down. Wooden blocks scattered across the tabletop, and a squeal of unrestrained joy was loosed from the grandstanding lips of my tactless opponent.

‘If only I hadn’t had to put it on top’, I lamented. But that’s just the point here. It’s easy to cause imbalance. It’s far more difficult to deal with the consequences. When I’d slid the block out, I had created tension—specifically between the increasingly poor engineering of the tower, and the immutable force of gravity.

If it hadn’t been expressly forbidden by the sacrosanct rules of Jenga, I could have tossed the block lackadaisically over my shoulder and passed the buck onto the unaware child before me—forcing them to deal with the repercussions of my block choice.

“Again!” he cried, encouraged by his victory and likely reeling with a distinct sense of invulnerability.

But my mind was elsewhere, and time was not on my side. As I gathered up the blocks and began to replace them in the box, I turned to the clock on the wall to gauge my schedule. 11:00am—just enough time to get one last visit in before lunch.

Oh lunch: the vaunted reprieve from workday responsibilities. With a half-hour of stress-free liberty, my only significant choice would be where to eat. And if that’s the only conflict to resolve, things are pretty good in my books.

But as the last of the Jenga blocks was returned to its rightful place, my hunger-laden mind recalled suddenly the ongoing string of strikes and demonstrations against fast food operations around the world (Link).

Workers had taken to the streets, demanding delivery from the poverty level wages they had been faced with for far too long. The demonstrations were primarily peaceful shows of unity and hope—asking only a fair wage for a fair days work. But as is the leitmotif of any political discourse these days, the demand was mired in controversy and misgivings.

Among the myriad complaints aimed at the workers was the age-old notion of fiscal strain. The argument goes that if restaurants (and it should be noted here that the vast majority of those affected are multinational Corporations) were ‘forced’ to increase their minimum wage, the resultant loss of capital would have to come from somewhere else.

It’s a logical notion to be sure—money is finite after all, and if moved to one place, it must have come from another. The natural remedies, in the Corporate mind at least, are to lay off workers, increase prices, or decrease quality.

Of course, these options lead to long line-ups, inflated meal prices, and dangerously cheap ingredients. As images of soggy lettuce, smeared condiments, and dry, grey ‘all-beef patties’ danced before my eyes, my lunch options seemed somehow less appealing.

There is a problem with this key assumption however, and as so many problems are these days, it is tied to the fundamental structure of the Corporation. Guided by the anti-social leaning philosophies laid out in the ‘Friedman Doctrine’ (Link), a Corporation is structured with only one true responsibility—the shareholder. This means that with every decision a Corporation makes, it is obligated to ensure that the bottom line of share value is being increased.

In essence: no matter what the problem or potential solutions, the goal should be greater profit for the Corporation. Of course, this has historically led to a litany of grave injustices (Link), but just at this moment, it was my impending meal I was most concerned about.

And herein lies the problem. While it’s difficult to argue that workers aren’t entitled to a living wage—particularly in a world where an ever growing number of jobs are being pushed into the minimum wage bracket by increased automation and other factors—I still want a good meal.

But these desires are incompatible in the Corporate mind. You can’t have fair pay, good food, AND reasonable prices…at least not if stock prices are to continue rising.

And so it goes: as each year passes, Corporations continue to take money away from the bottom, while ensuring it also stays at the top. Increase the wages—lay off employees. Respect environmental regulations—decrease the quality of the product. Comply with fair tax regulations—jack up the prices.

You take a block from the bottom, and you put it on top.

The easy answer of course, is that Corporations should, and must, accept that as society changes and technology grows, sometimes they may see a decrease in overall profits. But this should be felt at the top—the shareholders and the CEO’s who are in dire need of learning that just as they claim that ‘a person doing a minimum-skill job deserves only a minimum salary’, so too must the directors of a decreasingly relevant franchise ultimately see a stall in their (still exorbitant) profit margins.

Of course, this isn’t what happens. While many of these fast-food franchises likely started out as very solid businesses offering a decent meal at a competitive price, they have long since grown unwieldy. As the towers of their Corporate offices rose higher into the skyline, their bases grew increasingly unsteady. And we’ve all seen the end result many times before. Eventually, the whole operation comes crumbling down. After all, no one wants to pay $14 for a shitty burger just so the CEO can afford to take a private jet to his island resort.

And this, better than anything else, illustrates the fundamental failing which has occurred in our conception of capitalism. Namely, the transfer of implicit company responsibility away from its customers—who rely on a strong and reliable base—to its shareholders—who care only for how high it can reach before they sell their shares and watch it all crumble from the vantage point of the next opportunity they make ready to despoil.

It’s a depressing thought to say the least. And so, as I slid the Jenga box into my bag and made off to my next visit, I made a decision. Today, maybe I could pass on lunch. I was hungry no doubt, but as I thought about the implications behind which barely-edible meal I’d buy, I found that my appetite was gone.

Fuck it, I’d just go hungry. After all, if the Corporations had it their way, that would be the fate of the lot of us.

-Brad OH Inc.

The Popular Misappropriation of Blame

purelyspeculationOf all the grand facets of humanity worthy of daily expression, we seem to have found ourselves ubiquitously occupied by one of the most base and depraved of the lot: blame. ‘Blame the cops’, ‘blame the rich’, ‘blame the Jews’, and ‘blame the Liberals’. But mostly, blame the Muslims.

Blame is an easy slope to slip down—it’s sheer as all hell, and treacherous by nature. When we feel threatened, the most natural reaction is to find the source and strike back. This is a wise and adaptive trait. It once kept us wary of lions, a good quality to be certain, because those mangy bastards will tear you to bloody shreds without a second thought.

But as we’ve made our way out of the savannah and into a more complex society, we have accordingly found our threats growing broader—more difficult to define. The threats are similar enough in nature, and the fear is certainly no different, but the struggle becomes, in such an interconnected and nuanced world; where to place the blame.

It’s an issue that touches most every other—blame, and the need for it, permeates our society as deeply as hunger, equality, freedom…terror.

But of all the fears and all the culprits, none are as commonplace these days as the fear of and blame of Islam. Herein lays an important distinction. There can be no doubt whatsoever that some Muslim people have committed horrendous acts. This by necessity makes them potential objects of fear, and hence, blame.

The mistake here, and the especially slippery nature of this particular slope, is the inherent risk of conflating trait with cause. Certain Muslims have committed atrocities. But is Islam to blame?

A growing consensus among even the intellectual elite seems to support this notion. Recently—and as an ongoing tenet—the otherwise venerable Bill Maher has thrown his hat into the ring, landing unequivocally in the ‘Islam is an inherent evil’ corner (Link).

To my mind, this is an abhorrent mistake. More fundamentally—if you’ll excuse the term—it’s a misunderstanding of both human nature, and the true root of the problem here.

Just as fear leads to a drive for blame, so frustration leads to a compulsion towards anger. As humans, it is our natural inclination to construct narratives which provide meaning—or more pertinent to the case at hand—to latch onto narratives which fit our circumstances and needs.

When we are driven to find context in the wide and mysterious world around us, we construct belief systems. When we feel lost or uncertain, we take comfort in platitudes and homilies. When we are driven mad with fear of explosions and beheadings, we latch onto narratives of ‘the other’—the turban wearing madman with a mad lust for blood and unquenchable thirst to desecrate all we hold dear.

But the pendulum swings both ways, and when humans find themselves desperate, or afraid, so too do they grasp for and hold tightly to whatever narrative may give justification to their feelings.

At present, for a small portion of disenfranchised and rueful Muslims, this narrative need is met in the form of Islam. It is unfortunate, but it is reality. This is not to say there is anything inherent to Islam which makes it a violent or reactive belief system—at least any more than so many other belief systems—only that it may suffice as such in time of need.

The role has been filled by many other narratives before it. As President Obama pointed out (Link)—much to the chagrin of his electorate—Christianity filled this vile role during the crusades, and in many other periods of history.

Looking back to more recent events, we can find a fine parallel in the tragic shootings at Columbine High School. When these disenfranchised and deranged youth decided to commit a massacre at their school, many media outlets were quick to jump on their favourite artists as the ultimate culprit—primary among them the singer Marilyn Manson (Link).

Looking back on this farce, it’s clear to all but the most troglodytic amongst us that Marilyn Manson was no more responsible for this travesty than you or I. But his was, perhaps, the soundtrack playing in the maligned brains of the killers. His may have been the narrative they latched on to in their rage, but this is hardly a sufficient link to establish any sort of causal relation between the two.

The same is true, of course, with Islam. Even though we are witness now to a group of misled Muslims (some of whom may or may not have justifiable cause for anger) who use Islam as the marching banner of their holy war, there is little doubt their actions would be no less reprehensible under a different narrative. Their anger and their actions are products of their environment and their ability to process it. If we can imagine for a moment—as farcical as it seems—a world with no Islam, but in which all other social and economic factors in the middle-east were entirely comparable, I believe there is little doubt these militants would quickly find some other name to pin their hatred upon.

All action and belief needs a narrative. In this instance, the religion of Islam is being used to fill a terribly dark void—one that has arisen and been filled in people by different means throughout the sad duration of our existence. Still, that very same religion is followed by countless virtuous and just men and women the world over. It is a fallacy therefore to assign blame to the narrative. It belongs rather with the actors, and moreover, the circumstances which drive a nation to such desperate straits (Link). It is not the nature of the narrative which must give us cause for concern and rebuttal, but rather the source of need which this narrative is used to fill.

Fear is a rational reaction to a threatening stimulus. Not so blame. Blame is an atavistic and base reaction; one that provides comfort and perhaps unity among the maligned, but does nothing to move towards resolution. If we want to solve the problems afflicting our society, we must address the social and political situations from which they arise. Otherwise, we are doing scarce better than our detractors—joyfully burning the effigies of our fear while suffocating on the fumes of its intolerance.

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Silent Truth’

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

Today we have another song/ poem from the intellectual property vaults of Brad OH Inc. For your enjoyment, we present the lost ‘Basic Human Indecency’ song: ‘Silent Truth’.

It was dark

Just like it always is there

I remember

I thought I’d never be here

I just needed to tell you again

I walked around

and I looked down upon you

I could see

The black amid the clear blue

And I knew that I could not stay

And so I placed

The rose upon those green sheets

And I felt

The moisture on my thin cheeks

And I knew it would not end there

So I looked up

To apathetic eyes

And I could feel

The echoes of my lies

But I could never have told you then

Yet now it’s safe

Because the quiet is so true

So I spoke

I said I’ll always love you

And I just turned and fell away…

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Soft Sell’

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

Another song/ poem from the intellectual property vaults of Brad OH Inc. Today, we present the lost ‘Basic Human Indecency’ song: ‘Soft Sell’.

 Soft Sell

 Cliché

Things have a way

Of working out

Touché

You’re proven wrong

Each time you doubt

It can end with a scream

You can leave with a smile

It may seem too early

Or too long a while

But the credits will roll

And again you know

You’re free to go

All the gifts you are offered

Are the ones you would shun

Given a soft bed and you choose to run

And you run until you feel your heart swell

And you’re thankful for that

Cause you earned it yourself

A gift with no nametag

You need the soft sell

Thought

You had it right

You’re off again

Taught

That time is short

It’s closing in

You will lose it until

You find it at last

Time takes so long

Then it’s gone so fast

Just reap and sew

On with the show

You’re free to go

You’re given a Father and Mother

But you want faith and a lover

So much fresh air and still you would smother

You ask for a friend when you have a brother

What you can hold is all that you’ll make

You’re given so much more than you can take

Still you’re feeling well

Can you even tell

You’ve got the soft sell

Love notes written

In folder creases

Cause big things happen

In tiny pieces

He moves the world

And you never feel it

Believe it

You’re free to go…

 -Brad OH Inc.

‘Open and Close’

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

We’ve been getting some pretty great mileage out of our legal acquisition of the songs by former Edmonton band ‘Basic Human Indecency’, so naturally, we thought we’d continue with that trend.

Today’s song was the intended closer to the ‘Basic Human Indecency’ album that never was: ‘Open and Close’.

Open and Close

I’m not the first to sing this song

It’s been written for so long

To claim that we are strong

To admit when we are wrong

To wander when we’re lonely

I saw a star fall from the sky

There was no second try

You heard the last goodbye

Danced the rest out in a lie

And put it in a sad song

Another door slammed shut today

You watched her walk away

Thought what you would never say

Reason enough to pray

Once again you’ve lost your meaning

You make the sounds when you’re alone

The rushing crowd you’re on your own

You pick the pieces of your home

Out from the Gods that you have known

And say you do it for the last time…

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Lighthouse Lament’

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

Today on Brad OH Inc., we have another song to share from the former Edmonton based band ‘Basic Human Indecency’. As discussed with the previous song, ‘Overwhelmed’, these songs are the sole legal property of Brad OH Inc. But they’ve never been recorded, and have no other real use, so we’re more than happy to share them with you here.

The feature song/ poem today is the mournful tale of the sea: ‘Lighthouse Lament’.

Lighthouse Lament

A man and a boy

A boat and a storm

And a fear of where they were

A light and a horn

Far away through the fog

And a dream of where they weren’t

A rage in the boy

And a calm in the man

With the salt in his eye

And the wood in his hand

And the wind in his ear

Told him what she would be thinking

A sharp gasp out

Then a cracking sound

And a note in a bottle

Is all that was found

Of the man and his son

On the Homeward Bound

The winds keep tossing me alone

Stealing me from what I own

What I’ve known and sewn

And what I’ve grown

They take me far away from home…

-Brad OH Inc.

The Golden Goddess

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

They’re still out there. Oh, make no mistake about it; we still have our Gods and Goddesses.

It’s not religion I’m talking about. Not per se.

This is about the real Gods. The ones which move behind the scenes, the ones we actually look up to.

Gods and Goddesses abound in a place like this.

Made in his image—and all that.

I saw her with my own eyes: the Golden Goddess.

Until then, I didn’t even know I was looking for her. But passing through the supermarket, spending money to fill the void, she appeared before me at the magazine rack.

Hair flowing like spun gold, tussling over bronzed shoulders and cascading down a back arched with the pernicious poise of a predatory cat.

Her eyes shone like emeralds, gleaming with wanton hunger, and the eyebrows above were perfectly symmetrical, curved and inviting.

Her suggestive look left no room for misinterpretation.

It was only a passing glance. Then she was everywhere.

Every passing girl had touches of her within them.

All painted up in their revelations.

All decorated in their sacred garbs.

All repeating their hallowed sacraments.

All falling short.

Every man seeks her, and every woman strives to be her.

There are Gods as well.

Bound with muscles and tall as pillars, they call with different voices but similar promises. They tell you about things you’ll never achieve.

Paradise withheld—but almost attainable to the most prudent and savvy.

It’s something to strive for. At least in lieu of anything real.

They have bodies like humans, but more so. Digitally retouched beyond earthly proportions; sexual beyond human expectation.

Sex sells. It’s the most paid and prayed for thing there is.

And once you’ve known a Goddess, no earthly being comes close.

It’s happened to us all.

We chase our Goddesses, hoping to become a God.

We spend our money in pursuit of the holy ideal.

We withhold our affections for hope that our own Goddess is just around the corner—hold out, have faith.

You’ll never have one. You’ll never become one. They aren’t of this world. But for each deficit you find, you know there’s a solution down the next aisle.

Then another deficit, another product.

Flex your muscles alone in your room, hold them up to his.

Dye your hair.

Skip your meal—avoid temptation.

Push your breasts up in the mirror and let your proud shoulders fall along with them.

It can drive you mad.

But you’d have to be mad…to believe these things are real.

Yet you can’t risk giving up the chase. The rest are all so active, so close.

You can’t fall behind.

The next choice you make could get you to the Promised Land.

Who knows?

Why not?

What else is there to do?

Just keep your faith.

Just keep chasing the dream.

Just keep spending.

Maybe you’ll find her.

Maybe you’ll be him.

Maybe if you keep focussing on them, you’ll never have to see yourself.

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Of Pipers and Pigs’ Published on GonzoToday

cropped-blogbanner1.jpgWell, we have some exciting new today for all our fans here at Brad OH Inc. One of our ‘Single Serving Stories’, ‘Pipers and Pigs’, is now up for viewing on the incredible new site, Gonzotoday!

A direct link to this publication can be found here: ‘Of Pipers and Pigs’ on GonzoToday.

Gonzotoday is a new group dedicated to the creation and celebration of new age Gonzo Journalism; carrying on the admirable tradition of the late great Dr. Hunter S. Thompson in bringing the world stories of heavy import and sincere meaning wrapped in the rage and vitriol inherent to writers with open eyes.

The site has a lot of fantastic work on offer, so be sure to visit at Gonzotoday.com.

One thing you’re sure to notice upon your visit to this publication of ‘Of Pipers and Pigs’ is the incredible new artwork, conceived and created by the divine talents of the staff over at GonzoToday.

This is a serious change from our standard fare. If you’ve taken the time to peruse our selection of ‘Single Serving Stories’ in the past, you’ve probably noticed that the cover art for each sits somewhere between childish-cute and insultingly unbearable. Well, it’s true—the pencil-necked nitwit we have working in the art department at the moment is something of a pariah around the office, and achieved his position only by merit of dubious references and claims of knowing Brad OH.

Needless to say, his contract negotiation skills far outshine his prowess in the art department, but with a little time, we’re certain that the Corporate Efficiency Streamlining process will forecast the end of this sad little dweeb in no time.

Ahem…

Anyways, that’s enough ranting for now. Today is a day to celebrate after all, and what better way of doing that than swinging by Gonzotoday and reading ‘Of Pipers and Pigs’, or any of the other fine pieces available there?

-Brad OH Inc.