It’s FINALLY here!

LOOSE SCREWS is a parody of Zeitgeist and other crappy conspiracy films. Except for the part about Santa being real, I made everything else up.

• 9/11 was a publicity stunt by Santa to boost Christmas sales in 2001
• Santa sunk the Titanic posing as Capt. Smith to get famous
• He’s an Egyptian god named Sentniclausnatut
• The Bush Administration just jumped in on the 911 bandwagon because it grabbed so much attention
• Santa Claus is an agent of the Zionists and the NWO, we’re on our way to global slavery and Dylan Avery is just slightly off the mark, and Alex Jones is right!
• A secret Government site (www.noradsanta.org) PROVES his existence

Like all conspiracies, I start with a conclusion, and work my way backwards and twist and bend the evidence to support my conclusion. And of course, no conspiracy is complete without blaming the Jews for secretly controlling the world.

I’ve already gotten some heat and accused of anti-semitism because of the movie by idiots. Apparently the REAL 9/11 “Truthers”, their links to Holocaust Denial, White Supremacist groups and their accusations of “a Zionist Plot” everywhere is a-ok with them… however, cartoon Jews giving you the finger is NOT COOL and EVIL. *eyeroll* Besides, according to Encyclopedia Dramatica – The Jews really DID do the WTC.

If you hate these lame ’9/11 Twoofers’ as much as I do, send them my way, and if you see ’9/11 was an inside job’ posted somewhere, complete the sentence with ‘…AND SANTA DID IT!’

Please people, I need your LUVZ!!!!
Lotsa comments and booyahs, and I will love you forever… even if you hate me (but, why would you want to do that?).

• LOOSE SCREWS on YouTube

I can’t say anything bad about the Marlins. They are one truly ass-kicking team this year. But I can question what’s up with the umpires over there? They called a Marlin “out” yesterday, when he was clearly safe at first… then vice versa for the Yankees (*genuflects*)…

I want to see the Marlins fall to the Yankees (*genuflects*), but I wanna see it fair and square. Derek Jeter has been dubbed “The NEW Mr. October”. Tres kewl.

My Prediction: Yankees in game 7. Lots of nail biting, lots of extra innings… and it’s gonna be REEEEAL close.

Blacklist (not me for once) –
The Mighty T has been running in overdrive installing “MT-Blacklist” on all of the sites she maintains. Comment Spam has been running rampant as of late, (as sure as “death & taxes” if you ask me). This add-on helps eliminate it, and stops the spammers in their tracks.
(More on her site).

Anybody else getting snow?
We’ve got flurries on and off, tv is advertising all sorts of Christmas stuff, The Reasons for Christmas Project is prominently displayed on State Rep. Lewis’ home page…

Should I get a tree now, or wait a few more days?

Up to my ear lobes in work
Would love to talk about it, but well… you know.

It kind of brings to mind when a certain unnamed “Iranian Idiot” (hey, it’s more like “a personal observation”, okay?) challenged me a few months back with “I’d like to see YOUR perfect work…”.

The current project I’m working on would probably be it. It’s a technological and programming masterpiece (and it’s oh so pretty too!). It will also help revive an ailing industry, supplement the sites it’s connected to, giving them added functions that they can’t afford (or their webmasters have no idea how to implement), and generate tens of thousands in additional revenue for us in the next few months.

… of course some people still measure “success” as wowing a small handful of moron bloggers with a “flavor of the week” site that has long since fizzled out.

Yeah, I guess it’s *my* priorities that are screwed.
That must be it.

I haven’t slept in three days… pardon any spell-o’s you may find on this post.

btw… I’m #1 now on Google and Yahoo for “Pocono Web Designers“. (not to mention top 5 positions on MSNSearch, Hotbot, and Lycos)
Just thought I’d share.

EricBrooks.Com? – One foot in the grave, and the other on a banana peel.

This page is closed today in loving memory of the Patriots and Heroes who lost their lives on this day last year.

Say a prayer, light a candle, and remember….

But most important of all… live your life to the fullest.

We will never forget.
-e-

I remember the grueling 12-hour day I put in checking the latest AP wires and keeping live coverage on the website, amid rumors that NY and NJ may have no way of communicating with the outside world… way before some of the events even made it on TV. Walking into work that morning, never suspecting for a second that this would lead to the devastation and unspeakable horror that we’ve all stared in a state of shock over the past few months.
I can’t think about it.
I won’t think about it.

I did a pretty damn good job at avoiding it, until this morning.

Joe Flounders lived only a few miles from me. His wife Pat begged him to flee his World Trade Center office after the first plane the other tower… He stayed behind to help a co-worker, suffering shock; trying to get him out also…

Moments later, the second plane crashed and exploded right through his office…

… New Yorkers were breathing in his bone fragments for weeks.

I believe with all of my heart that State Rep. Kelly Lewis is going to be our President someday. He’s a fast thinker, he takes action immediately… and he has a heart of gold. He worked tirelessly with the victim’s families here… even did their grocery shopping.

He took special care of Patricia Flounders. She was devastated. Her entire world was gone. He did everything in his power to help her, ride through this insanity.

Pat committed suicide December 10th, 2001.… she shot herself to end the pain, and find a closure she’ll never find in this world.

There was a memorial service for her yesterday, here in East Stroudsburg. Front page news.

It’s only one of millions of stories… but it was one that I followed from the beginning. I never met the Flounders, but I was secretly rooting for her… hoping she’d beat the odds and the despair. Today hit me so goddamned hard that I was actually forced to think about that day again.

You’re at peace with Joe now, Pat.
God bless.

High above the workers, Larry operated his crane, moving large piles of steel across the yard.

Its not unusual to see and hear a commercial jet fly above him. However, an oncoming plane was particularly loud. It was louder than most, because it was flying at a far lower altitude than the rest of the planes that pass by.

So low that Larry can actually see the faces of the passengers.

The encounter took less than a nanosecond, but it seemed so much longer. Larry made eye contact with one passenger. A very sad man with a grim countenance.

It was the face of a man who knew he was about to die.

They were the passengers of American Airlines Flight 11, and it was just seconds before that jet crossed the water, and exploded on impact into One World Trade Center.

That man’s face will haunt Larry for the rest of his life.

It’s not about the act. It’s not about the politics. It’s about the people affected by it. The events as seen through their eyes.

***** T h e * C r o s s r o a d s ********

Many of the stories you are about to hear came from actual conversations in a gas station/convenience store in Stroudsburg, PA.

A mere 60 miles from New York City, across Interstate 80, it was a place where many stopped to fill up their cars with gas, and get their morning coffee and newspapers, before starting their long commute to work.

In the summer of 2001, it was a happy place. With happy people. Many were New Yorkers who fled the crime and the cold steel for a better way of life in the Poconos years ago. Their jobs paid well, and their personalities were indelibly “New Yorkers”.. no matter where they chose to live. Full of life, sarcasm, humor, the “New Yawk” accent, and everything that goes with it.

They were in before the sun began to rise, to be greeted by cheerful workers who had fresh coffee, rolls, bagels and biscuits prepared for the “morning rush” beginning at 4AM.

A few regulars never returned after 9/11.
One can only speculate.

Those who did return were traumatized and messed up beyond description. Trying to put the unimaginable into words brought only tears from the strongest and burliest of them. Their spirit was broken, and a part of them will remain forever entombed in the rubble of the World Trade Center, or splattered on the sidewalks from a 100-story fall.

Across from the parking lot was a motel where a group of generous truckers from Indiana took a final rest stop before their trek into N.Y.C. It was also one of many places in the area where the stranded were forced to stay for the night…

Adjacent to both buildings was The Pocono Record. Amid rumors of further attacks nationwide, and the possibility that at least four states will soon be without power or communication… it began to set up as a command center to communicate to the rest of the world what was going on.

But it was in that 24 hour convenience store that the stories of triumph and tragedy were being told. It was the place where those across the nation stopped for coffee, braced themselves to enter a war zone, then returned to share their stories.

For a brief while, that place was to be known as “The Crossroads”.

It’s not about the act. It’s not about the politics. It’s about the people affected by it. The events as seen through their eyes.

It’s still merely a .txt file in my hard drive. After the media basically ran September 11th to the ground (as I suspect they’ll do again in the next few weeks…) I felt people didn’t need this.

I also worried how people would take this particular story as there is more than enough real-life tragedy of the attacks in N.Y.C. and D.C. to fill a thousand lifetimes.

The following story is grim and horrific. Those easily upset may want to skip it.

It’s the “fictional” story of a woman buried alive when the towers collapsed. The sights, the sounds… the terror.

I put “fictional” in quotes… because I sometimes wonder, given my connection with the other side. I wrote this in Mid-October 2001… when the screams of the long-dead still haunted my dreams. I was possessed. My fingers couldn’t stop writing.

When I finished, a woman’s voice whispered “thank you” behind me.
I didn’t bother to turn around. I knew I wouldn’t see anyone.

I feel it’s time for her story to be told….

*****M y * N a m e * i s * M a r i a ********

The sun had settled hours ago in New York City, but the rescue teams had no plans of quitting that first night. Somewhere under the countless tons of smouldering rubble were thousands of people. They were someone’s mom or dad; husband or wife; son or daughter.

If they survived the fall, the fires, the smoke and the gallons of water… they may still be in the many crevices the collapsing skyscraper formed in the “pancake effect”.

If they were still alive… time is running out.

Through the mist and the smoke, a figure was caught in the corner of a young firefighter’s eye. It disappeared when he looked directly at it, but he knew he saw something. He abruptly left his crew, still digging through the debris. His departure was hardly noticed, as they just discovered a pocketbook and personal effects, and close to finding another body.

As he moved closer, walking on the unsteady debris, the silouhette he saw began to take shape. His heart begins to pound harder. The stench of burning rubber, mortar and flesh grew stronger. Even through his oxygen mask, it was burning his throat.

The powerful floodlights surrounding what was once Two World Trade Center barely cut through the clouds of asbestos. But there, off in the shadows he saw it again.

It was a young woman. Balancing her way across the rubble toward the lights. Her hair matted, clothes tattered; with thick patches of dirt, caked with blood, across the left side of her face. Her left arm seemingly unable to move. Possibly broken.

Miraculously, a survivor has found her way out of the rubble.

Quickly, the young firefighter rushes toward her, ripping off his oxygen mask and putting it over her mouth. At first, the disoriented girl flinches and struggles to keep anything off her face… then accepts it. Her trembling hand grasps the mask, taking in fresh air for the first time since 9 that morning.

“s-s-so.. c-c-cold….”, she says through the mask. He drapes his rubber coat carefully over her shivering shoulders, and escorts her toward an ambulance. Her weakened legs begin to falter, so he lifts her up and carries the rest of the way.

She begins to tug on his shirt, with an urgency that she tell him something. Perhaps there were more survivors where she was. He puts her down near a large hunk of cement. He crouches near her and attentively listens to what she is about to say.

“W-what happend?”, she asked, “I was on the phone with my mother, when the room filled with black smoke. I was telling her, I’m okay and leaving the building. As I w-was trying to find the stairs… the ground disappeared, and I felt like I was falling forever.”

“It all collapsed”, he told her. Though he saw it all, he said it as though he didn’t believe it himself. “The heat of the plane melted the metal supports, and it’s weight caused it all to collapse.”

“Was anyone else near you…?” He was afraid to finish the sentence. It was as though the phrase “still alive” became a dirty word.

“When I came to, I heard a lot of screaming.”, she said, answering his question, “but they sounded so far away through the dirt and rubble”.

“You can see the flames off to the distance, but it was so dark. There were so many at first. Screaming for help, screaming to God… but no one heard them. One by one, the voices began turned to painful moans to silence.”

“It was as if we were all in Hell….and leaving, one by one, to the unknown.”

She went on to describe the sheer horror of being buried alive. She was face-up and her lower spine bent painfully backwards. She tried to free the lower half of her body, pinned from the torso down with heavy rubble. But it was hopeless. She couldn’t feel her left arm.

She, too, wanted to scream… but a cold hand was clamped on her mouth. Someone’s severed arm from the debris inches from her face. It was suffocating her, and she couldn’t reach it with her good arm.

In the darkness, through the ghastly silence… she found some form of serenity and inner strength. Somewhere deep inside of her that she never knew existed.

A flame ignited nearby, to her right. What was once her enemy just hours ago, is now giving her comfort; giving light and keeping her company. The flicker of the flames provided a distraction, giving her time to reminisce and remember what was important:

Next week is her mother’s birthday. She was hoping to pick up the beautiful set of earrings that she saw in the jewelry store downstairs. She was also going to break the wonderful news that she had finally accepted Joey’s marriage proposal. Her mother always saw him as a family member, and this would just thrill her.

As the flames began to die out, she resolved that there was no way she can give up and stay down there any longer.

With this new-found strength she began to stuggle free. Both arms seemed to work now. She began digging upward, terrified at what she may uncover… but she knew she couldn’t quit. At certain points, it felt as if she were rising up from the bottom of a deep smimming pool.

She concluded her incredible tale: “There was no way I could stay down there… I have to get home to my mom and Joey, and let them know I’m okay.”

The young firefighter and the young woman saw a break in the mist, and turned to see that his crew uncovered another body.

A woman charred beyond recognition by an underground flame.

Her body was placed in a body bag. Her severed left arm was found nearby, and placed on top of her. The young woman recognizes the engagement ring on the corpse’s hand.

The young firefighter notices her look away and tightly shut her eyes.

He takes her hand as a gesture of comfort.

“Was that someone you knew?”

She looks up to the dark skies, as the bitter reality hits her…struggling to release tears that would never come.

“Yeah…”, she replies, “you could say that.”

She looks down at him. No longer disoriented, she finally makes eye contact with him.

Her facial expression is cold and soulless: “My name is Maria. Please tell my mom I love her, and I’m sorry I’m going to miss her birthday. Please tell her to take care of Joey for me?”

“Wait!” He says, trying to stop her, as she begins walking back toward the mist. “We gotta get you to St. Vincent’s. We can have a squad car pick them up and meet you there…”

“I have to go now.”, she tells him.

“Maria!” he yells out. She turns around.

“You realize we’re going to war with whoever did this…”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”, she replies….

“Revenge is only for the living.”

For the sake of children, experiencing war for the first time… I have denoted words they may not understand with asterisks (*), so they can appreciate the fine art of propaganda*. Answer key at the bottom.

The following hand-written note was found inside a flight manual in a suspect’s abandoned vehicle, translated from Farsi*

THINGS TO DO LIST

- Wake up, face the East, praise Allah* for his love and grace, and for the painful, gruesome death of Jews and Americans everywhere.

- Decide whether to milk the camel or blow shit up.

- Sniff the leftover bowl of cous-cous*, to see if it is suitable to eat for breakfast.

- Run to the market to pick up goat’s milk, a laws rocket launcher, and a stick of butter. (Find out if your order of bio-chemical weapons are in yet!)

- Sit down and try to plot the downfall of the United States, which is no easy feat as through this, you are being nagged by all six of your wives to go out and sweep the sand buildup outside of the tent because the neighbors are beginning to talk. At least two of them are suffering the curse of their “monthly effendi* coming to visit”. Come to think of it, there isn’t a day in the year when it isn’t happening to at least one of them…

- Curse the concept of polygamy*… the number one cause of suicide bombers in Al-Qaeda*.

- Go back outside, face the East and pray again. Or at least use that as an excuse to get away from the nagging bitches, and your 42 screaming kids.

- Take the camel out for a spin to the local Al-Qaeda* terrorist camp. It’s “Stag Film Night”, and the grand poo-bah promises this this film will actually show a hot Afghani woman exposing herself up to her left foot. Perhaps even an ankle!

- Hide the projector, pull up the screen to show your latest attack plan on the blackboard when a Taliban* official pops in looking to serve Osama bin Laden* with an eviction notice.

- A messenger arrives with a parchment from wife #3 (whats-her-name, you know, the pregnant one?), asking you to pick up some beef jerky on the way home from your most revered Jihad* meeting.

- You curse the sand her ancestors walked upon. It’s blashemy! Obviously she has been poisoned by western culture. (Besides, you already know that Pakistan has closed it’s borders to you. Not that it matters… 160 million Pakistanis, and not one of them owns a “Quicky Mart” or a “7-11″* over here.)

- This is the last straw on the loofah sponge, as you volunteer to make the ultimate sacrifice and become a suicide bomber for Allah. An eternity of paradise will be your reward, as well as twelve virgins, and a lifetime supply of Turtle Wax.

(Translator’s note: This part of the radical mentality of these madmen remain an enigma to our investigators trying to establish a profile. He became a suicide bomber to get away from his six nagging wives, yet he’s now committing himself to spending all eternity with twice the amount of women???? Also, I wasn’t sure of the words originally used for “loofah sponge” and “Turtle Wax”, so I took a guess. Sue me.)

You’d have to understand my origins to understand me. I’m from Brooklyn… we are world-renowned for our sick humor at the darkest times.

Growing up in dilapidated house, no male role models to fix things as they broke… (My friends have been calling the house “1313 Mockingbird Lane” since Junior High School). You had to laugh at it. When I built a recording studio in my basement, to watch the toughest “gangstas” in Brooklyn haul ass, as sewer rats the size of chihuauhas came out to hear their lyrics…

That was funny as hell!

There were a lot of hard times there, it was overcrowded, it was hostile and dangerous to be a white person in that neighborhood after a while…

Humor got us through.

Early attempts to make us laugh after the tragedy was pretty bad. Poking fun at the WTC is like making fun of a rape victim (which is never funny, and when you think about it… that’s what happened to America on 9/11).

However…

• Al Qaeda announced Thursday that it would lay off 5,000 or more holy warriors. – Fucking hilarious!
• The Onion shows us how it’s done with its Special Report: “Holy Fucking Shit! Attack on America” – American satire at its best….. CHECK IT OUT!

All links via MetaFilter… which brings me to today’s Newz & Gossip:

• The end of MetaFilter? – Former “A-Lister” and Webby loser Jason Kottke and MetaFilter mastermind (and former “A-lister”) Matthew Haughey discuss (as we’re all apparently ignored) how MetaFilter is a “hassle”, “may be scrapped”, and “turned into something it wasn’t meant to be”…

Uhm… that would be total domination and worship of the “A-List”, wasn’t it?

Matt, boobalah, do you realize what a juggernaut you have created?

It’s valuable property… and if you play your cards right (ie: stop complaining about what a hassle it is to maintain.) You can make a small fortune selling it off with all your hard work and brilliant coding.

Me? I’m all for the worship of the A-List…

why?

Because there is a new “A-List”. Run by the Axis of Jon Sullivan and Matthew Rossi (as confirmed here…).

We MUST worship them! Compelling content and good discussion is what the people want… Besides, I know these guys. If I suck up to them enough,
***I can become an “A-Lister”.*** :0)

• I will now proudly resume my role and bring you the finest in Newz, Gossip, and Pro-American Propaganda…

Well, maybe…

Tomorrow I face a judge on various charges for what happened over the summer… you all know what happened after that, and obviously this “Police State” isn’t done punishing us.

For what? For being stranded, and doing the best you can to stay afloat.

Will I do jail time? Will I face a stiff fine? Or will this Magistrate decide we’ve been punished enough?

Sentencing is tomorrow morning in Dingman’s Ferry if you all have nothing better to do.

I’m sure the same people who had a field day cracking “Trailer Jokes” as the Sheriffs locked us out of our home last February are going to have a field day with this one…

Oh well, at least they’ll be laughing again. Laughter is good.