FUBAR

Tech/net commentary from Bailie, Walker, and Weitzel
meatjournal 2.1

From Mr. Bailie:

[T]he relation between organism and machine has been a border war. The stakes in the border war have been the territories of production, reproduction, and imagination. This chapter is an argument for pleasure in the confusion of boundaries and for responsibility in their construction. It is also an effort to contribute to socialist-feminist culture and theory in a postmodernist, non-naturalist mode and in the utopian tradition of imagining a world without gender, which is perhaps a world without genesis, but maybe also a world without end. The cyborg incarnation is outside salvation history. Nor does it mark time on an oedipal calendar, attempting to heal the terrible cleavages of gender in an oral symbiotic utopia or post-oedipal apocalypse. (Haraway 150)

The above comment is from Donna Haraway's "Cyborg Manifesto," and we here at FUBAR laud it, applaud it, and hope this day does come (the possibility of being a real cowboy junkie! Oh, the joy! The rapture!). Still, after much perusing of the Internet, we here at FUBAR have found a site, and an essay on said site, that demonstrates no matter how many new applications for technology are found, we sad, upright monkeys will also shape it to fit our existing scheme of order dependent on "the tradition of racist, male-dominant capitalism; the tradition of progress; the tradition of the appropriation of nature as resource for the productions of culture; the tradition of reproduction of the self from the reflections of the other" (Haraway 150).
This issue, we're looking at ZUG.COM, and studying in particular "Bob the Anal Fissure," a classic bit of web-FUBAR. And here, much like in our last installment, we ask that you, dear reader, please clink on the above link so you may view FUBAR and "Bob" at the same time. In this way you, the faithful voyeur, can decide for yourself decide whether myself, Mr. Walker, and Mr. Weitzel are correct in our analysis--or if we should take a few months to lie on comfortable leather couches while we whisper into the ears of well-meaning (and well-paid) psychoanalysts.

As you can tell after reading for a short bit, this story is profane. Phrases such as

I had just fired a round of green chile liquishit (patent pending)

and ...

Yeah, I speak some Finnish. But it's limited to things like "Gee, those are nice tits," or "My buttring is bright, exposed, and nearly eye level to the wielder of the dilation tool"

and my personal favorite

The doctor wastes no time and before you can say "Is he asleep?" has two of his fingers deep into my ass. He checks around and during the examination gives my prostate a mighty push. I swear that I shoot a load of something straight onto my belly where it just sits there through the rest of the procedure. The doctor gives a grunt of satisfaction and reaches for the dilator

and the even more popular (according to those whom I have shared the article with before you, dear friend)

The surgeon then inserts the end of the dilation unit into my ass and begins rotating it left and right. Soon he has my poor asshole fully dilated. And I mean *DILATED*. There I am, out like a light, with a stainless steel thermos up my ass. Every thirty seconds or so the doctor does a 360 with the thing."

This is, of course, the comedy. Much like any good comedian, the writer of this text is saying things that transcend the boundaries of "good taste." He makes us laugh because we are uncomfortable, and in a way, our laughter shows our relief that this horrible series of events is happening to him--not us.

next!

MEATJOURNAL.COM || ISSN 1549-4454 || VOL 2.1 (Summer 2006)
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