Let's Do the Timewarp, MacDuff

Dear Friends,

In this issue:

A. Rock Simply that Others may Simply Rock

B. Not Just for Pedophiles Anymore

C. Better than a Nose Zit, not as good as Entenmann's Glazed PopEms

D. Let's do the Timewarp, MacDuff

A. Rock Simply that others may Simply Rock

The Hard Taco song this month is called, "Stairwell of Bended Knees," and if you've got a battery-powered dancing Coke can with sunglasses, turn it on now... it will go absolutely NUTS to this song.

B. Not Just for Pedophiles Anymore

I have set up a Myspace Account for Hard Taco. Those of you who are over 14 are probably asking, "What's MySpace?" and "Where are my goddamn dentures, Gloria?" Time to bump up the Ditropan, you doddering old prune-beast. MySpace is a web community where bulimic teenagers and their favorite crappy bands can send each other flashy messages like "That's pimped!!!" and "Thanks for the ADHD!"

Hard Taco is changing all of that. The Hard Taco Myspace page openly welcomes moth-eaten carbuncle-encrusted relics like yourself to mingle freely with the beautiful people. It's also the only place in the universe where you can listen to the EXCLUSIVE release of "Down the Wrong Pipe," the eyebrow-furrowing title track from the upcoming Hard Taco album. I finally got the whole band together for this song, plus the entire lineup from USA for AFRICA!

C. Better than a Nose Zit, not as good as Entenmann's Glazed PopEms

The Hard Taco Project has received a GLOWINGLY NEUTRAL review on a popular website that I'm sure most of you visit frequently, jeremybroomfield.com. Jeremy Broomfield makes Consumer Reports look like worthless crap. On the same page, he reviews Pedialyte, Tom Robbins, and nostril zits. I am proud to say that Hard Taco received higher marks than the nose pimples, but lower marks than a website dedicated to outlawing the use of the font 'Comic Sans.' Overall, I'd have to say that's a pretty appropriate assessment.

D. Let's do the Timewarp, MacDuff

I am amazed by modern adaptations of Shakespeare, because no contemporary director would even consider setting a Shakespeare play in Elizabethan England. They feel the need to put Juliet in fatigues, give her 80's hair, and have her lean off a portico in Managua, saying, "Art thou not Romeo, and a Sandonista?" I've seen everything from Hamlet set in Nazi Germany (where Claudius is Hitler and Hamlet's father represents the 6 million Jews) to Timon of Athens changed to a modern day San Fernando Valley high school dramady.

Furthermore, a good director should arbitrarily change the race or gender of one of the main characters. This trend took off in 1985 when Nell Carter starred in an Off-Broadway production of Henry V, coining the phrase, "Sugar, go get yo bad selves up on that breach one mo' time!" That’s not offensive at all!

This summer, I am excited to announce that the Stratford Shakespeare festival is putting on a version of MacBeth done Rocky-Horror Picture Show style. I would like to share a brief excerpt I saw on Good Morning America:

Witch 1: When shall we three meet again, in thunder lightning, or in rain?

(Audience: "When will you stop being a filthy slut?!")

Witch 2: When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won.

Witch 3: That will be ere the set of sun.

(Audience throws SunChips at the stage and starts pelvic thrusting somewhat apathetically.)

With Warmest Regards,

Hard Taco

Weapons of Moon Destruction

Dear Friends,

This Hard Taco song for April is called, "Let's Dig Up Harry." This is the song that puts the Rave in Grave-robbing! It's 30% folky, 30% extreme and 100% free.

At the height of the Cold War, it was often said that Russia and the United States had enough nuclear warheads to blow up the entire world 10 times over. Of course, this would have required a fair amount of cooperation on the part of both nations, and the logistics of organizing it were probably prohibitive.

Since the Soviet Union dissolved, Russia has been left with a mere 22,500 nuclear missiles, while the U.S. still has about 12,000. The other confirmed nuclear powers have even fewer... China, Great Britain, France, Israel, India, and of course, Pakistan. With only 12-18 missiles, Pakistan clearly lacks the firepower to destroy the planet several times over. In fact, 12-18 nuclear warheads are barely enough to blow up the moon, and certainly not more than once. I had the opportunity to sit down with Pakistani President General Pervez Musharraf to discuss his nuclear arsenal and other subjects in a rare interview...

HTP: Since your successful military coup in 1999, you have embraced the civil rights movement, denounced extremism and made enormous strides in the peace process with India. What has been the key to the success of your administration?

Musharraf: All of that may be true, but make no mistake - If the Federal Republic of Pakistan feels threatened in any way, I will not hesitate to use pre-emptive military force... and destroy the moon IN ITS ENTIRETY.

HTP: (pause) Your brother Naved lives in Chicago and is actively involved in an organization that supports increasing trade and dialogue between Pakistan and India. What does he think of your policies?

Musharraf: Naved is a fool. His apologist tea party will not deter me from carpet bombing the moon in a cataclysmic thermonuclear inferno. Not a day goes by that [Pakistani Prime Minister Shaukat] Aziz and I don't fight about who gets to push the big red buttons and rain vengeful hellfire on our lunar enemies. He thinks we should split them, but I feel that as President, it is my privilege to push all 12-18 buttons myself.

HTP: I see that you have made this the foundation of your reelection campaign. You ran a recent TV spot saying, and I quote, "Musharraf in 2007: I will personally destroy the moon without anyone's help. I will lay waste to it, reduce it to scorched rubble and slag in the name of Pervez Musharraf, and to a lesser degree the people of Pakistan. And perhaps Allah." Do you think that this accurately reflects the political climate in Pakistan?

Musharraf: Most definitely. I do not make false campaign promises. I will annihilate, despoil, and atomize the moon. I will ruthlessly blanket the lunar surface with ferocious mushroom clouds, grinding the entire terrestrial body into offal and debris. I will then incinerate this debris, torching whatever remains until it is nothing more than aerosolized particles screaming through deep space. This interview is over.

Sincerely,

Zach

P.S. Here is the slogan from Pervez Musharraf's last election in 2001: "I like Hi-C because it comes in so many different flavors. The size of the box is convenient. If I had to pick a favorite? Probably Either Orange Lavaburst or Stawberry Kiwi Kraze. Vote for Musharraf!"

The Mysteries of Koala Bilirubin

Dear Friends,

  The Hard Taco song for March is called, "Not Really a Bear," and I'm delighted to announce that it is based on actual events.

  And now, on with the actual events. When I was in elementary school, there was a kid in my neighborhood named Jared Ziegler. Jared was a couple years younger than me, and he was very apprehensive about starting first grade. As the summer drew to a close, I decided that it would be in his best interest for me to tutor him on the subject of everything that popped into my head while I was talking.

  For some reason, the first lesson consisted of forcing him to memorize a comprehensive list of bears. As it happens, the only bears I could think of were the panda bear, the grizzly bear, and the koala bear.

  That afternoon, in his living room, Jared proudly recited his lesson for his mother. I watched eagerly, expecting Mrs. Ziegler to shower me with praises for my devotion to her child's education. Instead, she completely chewed me out, informing me that "pandas and koalas are not really bears" and that I was teaching her son lies.

  My first-grade prep course had ended before it began.

  The story could end there, but it doesn't. You see, more than twenty years later, I have been vindicated, at least partially. In the early 1980's, the scientific consensus was that the giant panda was not really a bear. After all, pandas are vegetarians and they don't hibernate. This hypothesis was supposedly supported by a study of panda hemoglobin, which erroneously concluded that pandas were more closely related to the raccoon family (Tagel 1986). Since that time, studies of panda hair (Dziurdzik et al 1998), and panda chromosomes (Hashimoto et al 1993) have confirmed that the giant panda is, in fact, a true member of the bear family.

  In your damn face, Jared Ziegler's mom.

  Now I must bide my time. I must be patient and wait for someone to perform more definitive koala studies. You see, koalas are still classified as marsupials in most one-volume encyclopedias, but it might just be that the right scientists haven't done enough rigorous testing. My contention is that zoologists have been focusing on the big picture and not paying enough attention to the actual molecules (koala molecules), which might turn out to be convincingly bear-like. For example, they may have looked at koala hemoglobin, but have they studied koala bilirubin? I'm no zoologist, but it seems to me that bilirubin studies would provide more compelling evidence than hemoglobin studies (in all cases.)

  Years from now, I would like to have this whole anecdote published in one of those "Chicken Soup for the Soul" books. As you see, the current incarnation of the Jared Ziegler Story doesn't really have an emotional catharsis or any valuable life lessons, but that will all change as soon as koalas are reclassified as bears. I will then rewrite the ending of the story as follows:

"My first-grade prep course had ended before it began.

Or had it?

Nearly fifty years passed, and then one day everyone suddenly knew that pandas and koalas had been bears all along, and Jared flunked out of the first grade because his mother was mean/dumb. Retroactively, she is really sorry to both of us, but regretably, it's too late. NOW THAT'S CHICKEN SOUP, BABY!."

  I'm hoping that last line will sway the publishers into accepting my submission if they're on the fence.

With warmest regards,

Zach

Important Addendum: In the course of my research, I learned that the most common cause of death among koalas is a chlamydia infection called "wet bottom" or "dirty tail." Just thought I'd mention that for those of you who are trying to think of baby names...

www.(misspelledword).com is totally available

Dear Friends,

  This month's Hard Taco song, "Truer Then a Teardrop," is dedicated to my daughter Scarlett, who spent the last five days in the hospital with a nasty case of bronchiolitis, a word I did not make up. We're home now, and she's feeling much better, but I thought she could use a song.

  I would like to take a moment to introduce you to Steven Giamlalis, a Customer Installation Manager at a company in Albany, NY. I am not fond of Steven Giamalis, even though I have never met him. My antipathy towards this man is rooted purely in jealousy, for Steven Giamalis has something I have wanted for years. He has www.hardtaco.com.  I have written him two very persuasive emails in the last six years, requesting that he give up the domain name, but he has never responded. Meanwhile, I have to go on pretending that what I do is a "project."

  As readers of this digest, and supporters of the Hard Taco mission, I implore you to join me in sending a clear message to Steven Giamalis that his hard taco website is not welcome in our online community. Copy the following letter into your own email program, and feel free to personalize it, using the Mad Libs format I have outlined below.

Send to: Steven Giamalis

Subject: I am not fond of you, Steven

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Dear Steven,

   I am writing to inform you that many ___(PLURAL NOUN)___, including myself, are disappointed in you. Your website, www.hardtaco.com is a ___(NOUN)___ of mediocrity that has been __(VERB ENDING IN -ING)___ for over five years. If you were using the domain name for a viable commercial or personal purpose, I could forgive you, but Steven, your last blog entry was two years ago. It's time to let go. 

   I don't want to be___(ADJECTIVE)___, Steven, but I also take issue with some of your colloquialisms. You use words like "fundage" instead of money. You call your guestbook "Ye Olde Guestbook," and refer to your computer as a "bucket-o-transistors." These perversions of the English language are akin to smearing __(SYNONYM FOR FECES)___ on Noah Webster's grave.

   Steven, there are plenty of good doman names that are still available. Do you have a hobby, such as craftwork or bingo? Why not change your domain name to www.craftworkorbingo.com?  How about www.___(MISSPELLED WORD)___.com?

   Finally, Steven - Can I call you Steven? I do not like your honeymoon photos. They seem very provincial and __(ADJECTIVE)___. Why would you take some many damn pictures of ___(THINGS FOUND IN IRELAND)___?  Of course, if I knew you or your wife personally, I would probably enjoy them more.

   Please understand that I am trying to be constructive. Feel free to write me back and let me know if you agree with my observations. 

(___ADVERB___),

(___(YOUR NAME)___)

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If anyone gets a reply from Mr. Giamalis, forward it to me, and I will send you a free Hard Taco CD or bib.

With Warmest Regards,

Zach

War re-enactments: What are they good for?

Dear Friends,

   The Hard Taco song for the New Year is called, "Egg Came First." I expect that taking a stand on this contentious issue will buy me a lot of hate mail, but I really don't care. To paraphrase Lauryn Hill, I'd RATHER DIE than have one "Chicken came first" person listen to my music.

    You know who else I'm really fed up with right now? Namby-pamby war re-enactors. I call them namby-pamby because they only seem to schedule their war re-enactments when the weather is nice. Where I live, one can go six to eight months without seeing a single war re-enactment! It’s not as if this is historically accurate... some of the world's greatest battles have been fought (or "enacted") in cold weather. Here is a timeline:

December 1777 - February 1778: The Continental Army entrenches itself at Valley Forge. Charles Wilson Peale would later write that it was "cold enough to fee George Washington'f nipplef through his tunick (sic)." 

November - December 1812: Napoleon's campaign in Russia. It was so frigid that the Emperor had to wear a double nine gore shirred overskirt with flounces atop his organdy polonaise and waist-bustle peplums!

September 1864: Sherman's Union army arrives in Atlanta. The weather is mild and refreshing.

November 1864: Sherman sends a dispatch to Washington stating, "I'm freezing my ass off." Two weeks later he sends another one that simply says, "Problem solved."

December 1944 - January 1945: The Battle of the Bulge, otherwise known as the Second Battle of Ardennes, takes place North of Antwerp. This may have been the largest land battle ever fought by the United States Army, and yet NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD OF IT! (The exception being people who learn about history in ways other than watching live war reenactments.)

    In spite of these pivotal winter campaigns, most namby-pamby war re-enactors prefer to commemorate cushy summer battles like Gettysburg and Bunker Hill.

    Give me a break! By all accounts, Gettysburg was more of a three-day weekend than a battle.  Obviously, there were thousands of casualties, but that's only because the Union General George Meade turned down Robert E. Lee's offer to "Suttle this like gentlemen in the volleyball pitch." (Meade had a nagging stomach wound from the Battle of Glendale that acted up when he tried to serve overhand.)

    Still, there is ample evidence that the "bloodiest battle fought on American soil" was, in fact, a charming and lively affair, owing in large part to the agreeable weather. In the South, it is still referred to it as "Gettysburg Days," because it was really more of a summer festival than a battle. For instance, halfway through the engagement, both sides stopped for twenty minutes while the Union Fife and Drum Corps entertained the crowd with a medley of Stephen Foster songs. They started marching in a group, fanned out to spell U.S.A., and then regrouped in the shape of Abraham Lincoln's face. Then the Confederate Drum Corp (they were too poor to afford fifes) marched around in the shape of Jefferson Davis' face, playing the drum part to "When Johnny Comes Marching Home."

    Meanwhile, George Custer ran a bonnet-making workshop out of his tent and did not participate in the fighting at all! (I learned this on ANTIQUES ROADSHOW, because this lady had one of the bonnets and it was worth over $250 in today's dollars.)

    Anyway (and in conclusion), when war re-enactors start waging some serious arctic warfare, I'll stop categorically calling them namby-pambies.

    Please download my song now.

With Warmest Regards,

Zach

Sci Fiction Con

Dear Friends,

    The Hard Taco song for January is called, "The Only Girl at the Sci Fi Convention," and you have every incentive to download it right now.

    To be frank, I don't much care for science fiction myself. Besides the familiar fact that there are no female science fiction fans, most of us don't know much about this strange genre. When I first started diving into my research for this song, I thought that I would come to respect or at least appreciate the champions of this unusual subculture.

    Surprisingly, I was wrong.

    Science Fiction Conventions, or "cons," are billed as a gathering place for like-minded individuals to discuss common interests. The disturbing truth is that the science fiction world is a tangled web of contentious factions. The conventions are simply the arena for these feuding sociopaths to engage in gang warfare. 

    The Trekkies hate the Warsies (Star Wars fans) who like to beat up on the MSTies (Mystery Science Theater 3000 fans). Everyone wants to kill the Whosies (Dr. Who fans, who are unusually ugly.) The BFF's (Babylon 5 fans) are complete savages who pretty much hate everybody while the Earth F. Conflicties (Earth: Final Conflict Fans) mostly just loathe themselves.

    Within the subset of Trekkies, there is a divisive hierarchy. It would be social suicide for a boy whose family follows "Deep Space Nine" to go out with the daughter of an "Enterprise" fan. The muddy waters run much deeper than that, though. James Doohan, who played Scotty in the original series, was found dead in July. The official coroner's report lists pneumonia and Alzheimer's disease as the causes of death, but the ugly truth is that he was stripped and tortured to death by a gang of "Voyager" zealots. In my opinion, violating a demented 85-year-old in his own home is entirely wrong, especially if he has pneumonia. 

    But these guys don't care. Most of them have the dangerous triad of autism, antisocial personality disorder, and pimples.

     Casual fans who go to these conventions looking to buy Quantum Leap trading cards are completely unprepared for the world of hurt that is in store for them. If your shirt says "Gene Roddenberry is God," someone will kick your ass. If you take a second series Jar-Jar figurine out of its original box, someone will kick your ass. If you conjugate a Klingon verb in the wrong tense, someone will kick your ass. If you try to be non-confrontational and fly under the radar, someone will kick your ass. That just makes you an easier mark for the "He doesn't like you. I don't like you either," line. 

    The trick is to find the one guy in the convention center who is smaller than you and beat him to a bloody pulp in a public place, such as in front of the Peter Mayhew autograph booth. You won't have real street cred until the Battlestar Galactica crowd thinks you're a maniac. Only then can you move among the panel discussions and costume contests with a certain degree of impunity.

    Just make sure you have an emergency escape plan for every situation. For instance, if an overweight teenager in a Stargate Atlantis shirt starts bludgeoning your face with the butt of a plastic light saber, you will want to distract him by throwing a pile of Enterprise blueprints into the air as you head for the nearest exit sign. (See Exhibit A)

    If the exit is blocked, you will need a backup plan. Carefully follow the specifications in the blueprints (see Exhibit A again) and build a functioning life-sized replica of the Enterprise. Then, go to the transporter room and beam yourself to a safe distance.   

    Don't forget to download the song, because it may start a dialogue about a lot of these issues.

With warmest regards,

HT

Please Forward to Everyone You Know or We All Suffer

Dear Friends,

    The Hard Taco song this month, "The Only Serious Thing," is now available for download. This is the low-hanging fruit of the musical world, so take it now while it's ripe.

    Meanwhile, please forward this email to twelve (12) other people, and your wildest dreams will be CAREFULLY CONSIDERED. This is not a hoax! I already sent it to twelve people and the next day when I got home my towel rack was fixed and also my wildest dreams had come true. Here are third person testimonials about people who thought this was a hoax and ended up regretting everything:

1. A homeless guy thought things couldn't get any worse for him, so he deleted the email without forwarding it to anyone.  The next day he was falsely convicted of first degree high treason and had to travel over several time zones just to be executed. 

2. This one girl didn't believe in jinxes or computer curses, even though everybody told her how wrong she was, including the president of her company. She turned off her computer without forwarding the email to anyone, left her house and immediately got lost at the first intersection she came to.

3. Do you know those factories filled with rotating robot arms that bolt big pieces of metal together all day? Well, this guy who declined to forward this email got his foot caught in the conveyer belt at one such factory, and got sheet metal bolted to his upper and lower body over and over again. Finally, at the end of the assembly line, the robots (which were well-built) sensed that something was wrong, and flicked his metal-encased body into a reject bin rather than sending him to market.

4. An old man forwarded the email to everyone he knew, but it was only eight people. The next day, all eight of his friends were swallowed whole by a number of different animals. When word got around that the man had no living friends, no one would hire him for a real job and he had to live out the rest of his days ringing a bell in front of the grocery store like an idiot.

5. This other lady fell into a bottomless pit for unrelated reasons. After falling straight down for nearly fifteen minutes, she forwarded the email to the right number of people, and pretty soon her wildest dreams came true.

With warmest regards,

HT