The Mayor of Diversity

And now a word from the honorable Bruno “Paca” Dicermelt:

Hello, Mr. Brachish. As my spokesman informed you, I’d like to tell your readers a bit about myself and how my political innovations are setting new trends for the future of the world.

I’m the mayor of Caramie, a small town whose population is comprised of individuals ranging in “identity” from wealthy African-Americans, middleclass intellectual lesbians, working-class white males, aging Chicanos and every other racial, ethnic, and sexual combination imaginable. My job is to maintain a harmonious atmosphere amidst all this diversity, so I’ve developed a few ideas to encourage tolerance and the respect of differences in such a multicultural environment.

My first construct addressed the issues of gender and sexuality—for the sake of survival and equality I’ve assumed the responsibility of equalizing the entire population of my city. Forthwith, I ordered up the mass castration of all males.

No longer do we heterosexual men have to summon up an ugly mental image of male-on-male anal sex every time we see a gay man, because males in our society are no longer capable of using their penises for anything other than urination. (This also solves the bulk of rape crimes; damn I'm good.) All impregnation is done through artificial insemination, and the sperm used is scientifically manufactured based on permutations of my own personal sperm. (Thus everyone receives a taste of my greatness in their children, while the genetic permutations engineered by skilled lab technicians prevent the drawbacks of inbreeding that would normally occur from continually using one man’s sperm to fertilize an entire society). It’s a comforting thought knowing that even after my death my spermatozoon will continuously be manufactured and used to conceive countless children.

I’ve also implemented a historic mandatory Health Law that guarantees free healthcare (free to the extent that it’s paid for with peoples’ taxes). The healthcare system has one catch: it demands cosmetic surgery for one and all, lessening the pessimistic effect ugly people have on themselves and others. The law also enforces rigorous self-care (healthy diet, daily exercise, balanced vitamin intake) and punishes those who disobey. Obviously, these laws not only make for a healthier society, but a more beautiful one as well.

I’m mad, you say? I think not. My laws are all based on the core belief of equalization. Let me reiterate for the simple minded: If everyone looks beautiful and healthy, no one will be discriminated against for being unattractive or sickly. Some people argue that race, sex, and gender are at the root of discrimination, but any gimp with half a brain knows it’s really the ugly and lame that have been pissed on throughout the history of time. Also, it’s much easier to accept minorities as equals when they’re ass-smackingly gorgeous.

There are no class issues in Caramie. I put an end to them years ago with an idea now referred to as The Class Equalization Equalization Enactment (CEEE). In the speech I gave introducing the plan I accidentally said the word “Equalization” twice, and the mindless horde that call themselves “journalists” misunderstood and began reporting the project as The Class Equalization Equalization Enactment, instead of just The Class Equalization Enactment. My advisors think this actually aided in the vast embracement of the idea because the community found it too grandiose-sounding to understand, and narcissistic news anchors enjoyed rolling the phrase off their well-paid tongues.

Basically, the CEEE taxed the rich and gave to the poor. The rich who complained were called in to receive a refund and instead received my patented Blasto © treatment (a chemical brain injection that causes migraines but solves all tax complaints). Soon the poor were middleclass, the rich were middleclass, and the middleclass were middleclass (and I had plenty of tax money to fund my health plan).

Mass beautification, mass-beatification, mass taxation, and mass castration—it all goes together like creamy white sauce on biscuits. The beautification portion of my health plan, as previously explained, alleviates the issue of race because now people are not “black” or “white” or “Hispanic” or “Republican” or “Jewish” so much as “Just Damn Good Looking,” solving cultural problems that continue to pop up in other diverse towns like poison ivy in unkempt woods.

My castration initiative plays into this as well: No longer do members of any race or creed have to instinctively/subconsciously/ethnocentrically fear that members of other ethnicities will breed within their social circle, because men can no longer breed at all. Sexual competition, as everyone knows, is at the core of most hostility—solve the fear of your wife/daughter/mother getting interbred with somebody of a different race, and you solve 70% of war, crime, and hate itself. No ligers, tigons, mules, or mutts in Caramie. No. Just hot-ass kids with my brains and their mother’s surgically enhanced good looks.

But wait! I’ve been struck by another brilliant concept. I’ll prosaically call it Diversity Month, for now. Diversity Month will force citizens of Caramie to have new and diverse multicultural experiences that will open up minds and solidify social understanding. During Diversity Month everyone in Caramie over the age of 16 must have at least four sexual relationships with people outside of their race and sexuality. At least two of these encounters will be homosexual in nature, and at least two more will be with a member of another race. At least one of these four liaisons must involve both of the above factors at once. During Diversity Month I also plan to enact Diversity Day, a keystone of Diversity Month during which the entire town will be whipped into a frenzy of untamed orgiastic delights and undaunted debauchery. Diversity Day will bring all aspects of our community together for 24 hours of sexual thanksgiving.

I know what you’re thinking: “How can males have sex during Diversity Month when they’ve all had their balls lopped off like bad little doggies?” Well, sex with the penis is not the only form sex, my friends. You have to let your imagination run wild to experience the joys of sex in Caramie. Yes! That is correct! Another benefit of the Castration Constitution in the Health Laws is that it actually stimulates imagination in the minds of Caramiens—minds that until now were stagnant, wiped clean by television, the mass media, and other forms of corporate-produced mind washing. Ah! But from my ideas hope springs eternal and benefits abound!

Religion? It’s been difficult, but slowly people are agreeing to my request for everyone to join the Baptist church. We chose the Baptist form of Christianity as our town faith by picking a card out of a bingo machine filled with religions. My reasoning was this: If there is a God, he’ll make sure we pick the right card out of the machine. If God is a Muslim, he’ll guide our hand to the Muslim card, etc. As it turns out, God is a Baptist. But even if he’s not, at least we no longer have to deal with people of one religious stripe thinking that people of all other religions are going to hell, etc., because we’re all Baptists and that’s that. I’m also considering the destruction of all science books, because science keeps leading back to evolution and that just gets Baptists worked up like all hell.

Problems? Where there are problems I see only solutions. My town is diverse, beautiful, healthy, imaginative, open-minded, inventive, equal, and soon to be filled with hundreds of my children… The only thing we have to fear is the jealous national governments of this sordid, wonderful world of ours. Governments hoping to crack Caramie open like a can of cherished smoked oysters. But these too will be overcome, even if I have to Blasto © them all myself.

File under:

The King of Booze: Abel Ferrara

Iconoclastic filmmaker Abel Ferrara—director of the Christopher Walken classic “King of New York” and Harvey Keitel’s viscerally devastating performance in “Bad Lieutenant”—is regarded as a cult legend as much for his hard-livin’ lifestyle as his raw, disturbed take on cinema.

We call him from NYC at 4 a.m., Rome time. He’s been hiding out in an Italian hotel for two months, where he’s rumored to be developing a new film with some mysterious confreres. It’s unclear what exactly he’s been doing, but whatever it is involves alcohol.

Ready and Abel.

How’s it going, Abel?
“It’s alright…So what do you wanna talk about?”

Would you be comfortable talking about your favorite beer?
“Budweiser all the way! I mean, call ’em up and tell ’em like, you know, ‘Nobody pushes it like us.’ There’s no like the King of Beers. There’s nothing like it, you know what I mean? Believe me, I’ve drank thousand-dollar bottles of wine. They don’t come close to a... a Jersey Bud.”

Now are you talking about a can or in a bottle?
“Only in a bottle. But only twenty-twos. It’s a bitch to get them over here man. It’s no easy matter.”

What’s the drinking situation in Italy like?
“Um, yeah, I’m breaking them into Budweiser.”

The imports, right?
“Naw, they make ‘em here. Budweiser European. You know, we actually went to the source. We were in Czechoslovakia where they actually... where the original formula is.”

What’s it called? Budvar?
“Bood-vice-er.” [Phonetically, like a lisping Dracula]

What’s the best city for drinking?
“Czechoslovakia man. What was the city? Bratislava.”

Oh yeah, that’s the spa town.
“Yeah, that’s the joint, bro.”

What’s so good about it?
“Every bar has its own beer. You know what I mean? Like Budweiser, it’s like all they drink in that bar. Then you go to another bar, and then it’s like.... If you’re into beer, ya know what I’m saying.”

You’re a movie person, so you’ve got to be around fancy people drinking girly drinks.
“Yeah, fancy champagne, we [movie people] drink. You know what we drink here.... Bellinis, Prosecco. You know what I’m saying?”

Does that just whet your appetite, or does that get you going?
“What gets me going is Budweiser, homes! You know, a Jersey Bud. Twenty-two ounce. Double-D. The Double-Deuce of the D.”

Last I saw you, you were talking about Asia Argento.
“Yeah, fuck Asia Argento.”

How do you find these ingénues? Like what do you look for?
“They look for us, you know what I’m saying? You got no choice. I mean, Asia Argento shows up, what are you going to say? You know what I mean? Have you got the nerve to say ‘No’? What was that joke.... ‘You ain’t going to throw them out of bed for eating crackers.’ ” [He laughs, mumbles, passes the phone to his friend, who we speak with for a while, and then the international connection is lost....]

The above interview was conducted in 2004 and was intended for publication in a magazine I was co-editing. The article was written by Byron Karl, but it never saw print, so Celebrity Cola is printing it here for the sake of bettering mankind—or something.

Note: Celebrity Cola prefers local breweries to Budweiser, because Budweiser is The Man. Unless the Bud is free. Or really cheap. And we’re short on cash. Then we’ll drink anything. We can be really sad and desperate like that, on occasion. Is this the most heartwarming and edifying story you’ve ever read, or what?


Better Than Beer: There's no need for alcohol when you can boil your mind with the idiocy of frivolous lawsuits. Visit for frequent updates on who's suing whom, and why. Hangover guaranteed.

Definitely Not Sober: the Donnie Darko FAQ at StainlessSteelRat explicates many of the mysteries of Richard Kelly’s film/tonal thriller but doesn't delve much into the superior, confusing director’s cut. The “Donnie Darko: Fishing for Meaning” discussion at Arts & Faith is also insightful, although no one has adequately solved the conundrum of why the psychiatrist was secretly giving Donnie a placebo or why she and Drew Barrymore seem to know more about the plot than they’re letting on...

Jedi Theocracy

What if priests and monks could physically manifest their connection with God through the use of telekinesis? What if the Pope was a little green man and the Vatican Council promoted the use of laser swords for settling religious and political debates?

Well, we’d be living in the universe of George Lucas’ “Star Wars,” of course, where the only alternative to strict religious rule and mind-numbing political bureaucracy is an evil, democratically empowered despot of pure evil who patriotically promises to protect his followers from terrorist-like attacks from infidels.

Yoda Pope (image courtesy of tribal_tiger).

At the forums, a chap named Litigator clarifies the subconscious feelings of Jedi-haters everywhere:

Here’s the thing about Star Wars: the Jedis were never cool. Han Solo is cool. That’s why Han got the girl and Luke got his hand cut off. If you saw Star Wars and wanted to be a Jedi, you are a fucking loser.

The whole new trilogy sucks by definition because there is no Han. Fictional galactic politics is stupid, especially since Lucas’s conclusion is that society is best left in the hands of a bunch of religious fanatics who wave around huge glowing phallic symbols. Harrison Ford cruising around in a space hot-rod with a giant gerbil sidekick shooting stuff and shagging babes with weird hairstyles is cool. Without him, Star Wars takes itself too seriously.

You can’t even blame George Lucas. He had a pretty good idea of the thing to start out with, and it’s been ruined because it’s now taken too seriously. I blame the fans for this. The problem was that a lot of dorks decided they wanted to be Jedis, and started pretending that they were. They created a huge demand for more star wars stuff, and, of course, it all had to be internally consistent because their fantasy lives inhabited the star wars universe, and anything that jeopardized their suspension of disbelief might cause somebody to have an asthma attack.

was great when it was about a midget in a trash can, a giant in a monkey suit, and Harrison Ford being cool and spouting off cool one-liners. The [original] trilogy, including the Jedi [storyline], is some of the best entertainment ever laid on film. Now that it’s dork-porn for people who hate their lives, nobody can enjoy it anymore. The fan community is the reason the new trilogy sucks, and is probably also responsible for George Lucas’s chin receding into his neck.

My big beef with Lucas is that he is altering the original films to be more consistent with the wretched masturbatory nerd fantasy that the Star Wars franchise has evolved into. He’s been seduced by the Dork Side. And he gave the nerds exactly what they wanted in the new trilogy, but they can’t realize it because nothing would satisfy them. They’ve merely adopted the observation by film lovers, who are kind of geeky, but not nearly as pathetic, that the new trilogy are poor movies.

Actually, as a kid I wanted to be a Jedi. But then again, I was also on the chess team. Reexamining the situation, I'd have to agree that Han Solo is cooler than any conservative Jedi celibate. But damn, those lightsabers are copacetic...

Another user notes what many a sci-fi cinephile has repeated endlessly since seeing the dreck that was “Star Wars, Episode I: Battle of Whiny Kid and the Silly Robots.” Says Riggswolfe: “My perfect prequel trilogy would have had Anakin at Luke’s age or a little older. Episode 1 would have been what is currently Episode 2 with maybe a 15-minute flashback showing young Anakin. Episode 2 would have covered what we only have in cartoons currently, ‘The Clone Wars.’ And Episode 3 would be... well...Episode 3.”

Well said. Besides Jar Jar Binks being one of the most cloying, one-note characters in film history—and the often yawn-worthy political-debate sequences, the badly handled Immaculate Conception concept, the stultifying performance by the usually competent Natalie Portman, and the ham-handed plotting—it was the choice of turning Episode I into a fart-joke lovin’ little kids film about a pratfall-prone hovercraft hotrod prodigy that really destroyed the potential of the “Star Wars” prequels.

Instead of mucking about with digitally adding new, unnecessary sequences to the original trilogy (and stopping Han Solo from shooting Greedo first!), Lucas should go back and completely re-edit Episodes I and II. Chop down the bits that seem like videogame commercials. Give it some edge. Flesh out the bad guys. Add a love triangle between Obi-Wan, Princess Amidala, and Anakin. Replace Jar Jar with Chewbacca, Han Solo, and/or Lando Calrissian-type characters.

Wait... Like the chaps at and the hundreds of other Star Wars fansites out there, I’m revealing more dorkiness to the nth degree. Let’s just say this: Despite the failures of Eps I and II, the final installment of the prequel tril will certainly clean the bank. Because unlike the political and religious realities of our world, the universe of “Star Wars” has a beginning, middle, and end. And everyone loves closure. It’s irresistible. With the tale’s conclusion, we can take solace in the completion of a myth, even if theocracy is its twisted final theme.

Of course, the religion of Star Wars is also one of self-empowerment and intuition, and not just doctrinaire theology. So remember: I am “Star Wars,” hear me roar.


See also:

“The Apocalyptic Cosmology of Star Wars” (as a religious text; and technology versus the natural human).

“Star Wars and the Goals of Mankind” (how Christians can become corrupted when they learn to achieve personal satisfaction through the teachings of Star Wars).

“Religious Themes in the Star Wars Saga” (Hinduism, Buddhism, and Christianity in the S.W. universe).

“The Naming of Jedi” (Muslim, Buddhist, Chi, and Joseph Campbell influences on Jedi naming conventions).

“Star Wars Religion Doesn't Make Census” (Australian, English, and New Zealand believers in the Jedi).

“Religion in Science Fiction” (links and resources).


Kevin Smith discusses the secrets of "Revenge of the Sith" in a spoiler-filled, sweat-soaked memo. (Anakin wouldn't really do that to the Jedi toddlers, would he? Amazing...)