The Midnight News 05.30.05

hyatte | May 29, 2005 | Archive | 0 Comments

(reflections of of a bad column)

“A Tragedy is when your daughter brings home her first boyfriend, and he’s BLACK.”

Fuck you, that’s not a damn tragedy. A Tragedy is getting shot 41 times for pulling out a cell phone; a tragedy is the slave trade, the holocaust, or the trail of tears. A tragedy is wondering where your next meal is coming from. Those are tragedies, not cumming early or whether or not Michael Jackson is guilty. Anyway, I actually enjoy reading you, and will continue to read you, but I have to disagree with your statement. Anyway, take care and keep up the good work you miserable bastard.

-Lost the name

Why did he pull out his cell phone? If cops have the guns out… my hands are SKY HIGH. What moron reaches inside his pocket? What was so important that he had to call them NOW? Did he have to call the pizza joint and tell them to put the pie back in the oven for a few minutes? 

“A Tragedy is not knowing what Little John means when he says: “skit skit skit skit skit skit skit skit”

Its, Lil Jon, and its “skeet skeet skeet”. Yes, his music sucks, but so does 91% of mainstream rappers/producers, and no one goes aroundmisspelling and f*cking their phrases up. Unless you were being completely white on purpose

A tragedy is when you f*ck a prostiture, realize she is a he, and continue to f*ck him anyway, just cause you didnt wanna waste your money..

-Lost the name too

Me? Be completely whiter than white on PURPOSE? Perish the thought – my fine, young, homebody

Actually, a Tragedy is when a personal flaw leads to one’s downfall, like Oedipus.

P.S.: I’ve been reading you since Scoops. You still rule, you just rule differently now.

-Lost the name thrice

Ahh, a little Shakespeare… be it once a thrust of annointed flesh doth bring forth the bounty of loinfruit… name the play, act, and scene, yon knave scoundrels

Ok, long story short – been messing around with this girl for a few weeks, and she wants a relationship but I definitely don’t. The kicker is, I took her virginity so now I feel like I owe her at least a couple months of my life. How do I break things off without hurting her?


Spend a few weeks being really, really mean to her… then send her a long e-mail saying you will end things with her unless she… oh, wait… that’s MY drama… boy, made a damn fool of myself on that one… and almost lost one of the best things to ever happen to me. 

ALMOST… losers… Hyatte cranked up the old charm and heh heh heh…. all’s well.

Hello Cornholes. I’m Chris and this is the Midnight News. This is going to be a long one. I have two quick stories… a LOOOOOOOONG segment…. a trio of regular features…. another LOOONG segment, then quotes. Then I pass out.

Note to you know who you are: You’ll never have to deal with that again. But just wait until you see what OTHER crap I throw your way.

P.S. My new e-mail address is an old one that some of you might remember…… the one I usually use is screwed up and it might take a while to fix… just a reminder, yo


Dark day for the Indys…

Daniel Quirk, AKA: Spider, was a 22 year old Indy kid who died because he tried to catch a worker doing a moonsault and ended up slamming his head on the concrete and landed on his head..This was in Taunton, Massachusetts for the Ultimate Championship Wrestling federation..

The promoter of the event issued the following: “Horrible, horrible. I was even planning on paying Danny this time out… well, no I wasn’t but an IOU is just as good as real cash!! We will honor his memory at the NEXT great UCW event! Coming June 21! Bring the family! Bring your wallets as we will be offering “In Memory of Spider” t-shirts and bracelets for the low low price of just $50. Horrible, horrible… DAMN YOU MCMAHON!!

When asked to comment, the Ultimate Warrior issued the following, “It is a great preturberance that such a lost soul was taken from the very bosom of Mother Earth so appallingly quickly. It is also with great obscuranity that I must now issue forth a full investigative audit of the event’s financial gross for that evening. Whoever procured the audacity to entitle his company with the attachment of my copyrighted identity without consulting my barrister at large and being garish enough to presume that I would not happen against such an illegal atrocity shall soon feel the full wrath of the law… the law according to the Warrior. Was it a towel head? Them f*cking towel heads are always trying to fornicate with my well-being and livelihood.

When asked to comment, WWE Chairman Vince McMahon said, “Oh give me a break, I had NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS…. LEAVE ME ALONE!!

And so it goes…

Personal note: No one should be dead at 22… unless they f*cked me over in some way… which this kid didn’t, as far as I know… so my condolenses go out to the family and friends. 


Finally…. the Day of Reckoning is UPON US… YOU SHIFTLESS BASTARDS… 

No.. no… I don’t mean that you are all about to get what’s coming to you… I mean GameCube is about to unleash WWE’s Day of Reckoning 2 with the following roster:

RAW: Batista, Chris Benoit, Chris Jericho, Christian, Edge, Eugene, Gene Snitsky, The Hurricane, Kane, Randy Orton, Ric Flair, Shawn Michaels, Shelton Benjamin, Tajiri, Triple H, and William Regal

SmackDown! Big Show, Booker T, Bubba Ray Dudley, Charlie Haas, Chavo Guerrero, Danny Basham, Doug Basham, D-Von Dudley, Eddie Guerrero, JBL, John Cena, Kurt Angle, Rene Dupree, Rey Mysterio, Rob Van Dam, Spike Dudley, and Undertaker

Divas: Christy Hemme, Lita, Stacy Keibler, Torrie Wilson, Trish Stratus, and Victoria

Legends: Bret Hart, Hulk Hogan, Mankind, The Rock, and Steve Austin

But what you may not know yet, which I do, is some of the special coded FEATURES that you can access by pushing 24 different buttons in precise order… such as…

-The code that automatically makes Chris Benoit stop what he’s doing and lay down for you

-The code that makes the Big Show fart and blow the ref clear out of the building.

-The code that makes Daniel Puder run into any Kurt Angle match and make Angle his bitch with the “Keylock”… followed by Dave Meltzer running out and fellating Puder dead in the center of the ring.

-The code that takes you inside the dressing room to see which Diva Randy Orton is ass-banging while his music plays

-The code that gives Hulk Hogan creative control over YOUR Game Cube and then rifles through your drawers looking for money while his daughter’s music plays

-The code which Trish Stratus stops the match and announces into the screen, “I’m in love with Chris Hyatte for some insane reason

-The code where you can pick who Lita screws next, and who she cheats on.

-The code where the Undertaker sells (that’s a special code that you need a special 83 digit combination and a pint of blood from a rabid possum)

-The code where Dave Scherer runs out and beats up everybody in the ring.

-The code where Booker T starts speaking the Queens English

-The code where Bret Hart actually PINS Shawn Michaels. 

-The code where Victoria does that full body shake and your whole room actually shakes from the vibration.

-And the code where you throw salt in your opponent’s face but it’s actually cocaine and you watch as he stumbles around blowing spots left and right while in a state of total bliss.

Yeah, you better get in line… right about… NOW, YOU FAGS!!


Thank you Doctor… and the great Inside Pulse orchestra. It’s time once again from a visit with… a stranger from the East… the all-knowing, all-seeing, sage, soothsayer, and Gene Snitsky’s personal back zit popper… I give you HYATTE-YAK: THE IMPOSSIBLE!!!

Hyatte-Yak enters, and trips on the raised edge.

Are you okay, O Great One?

I am fine…

A great many people are wondering, it’s been YEARS since you’ve graced us with your presense. where have you been?

I’ve been traveling through the deepest, darkest corners of the world searching for wisdom… for enlightenment…

Couldn’t find this column after he left 411, huh?

Not even with two hands, a flashlight, and a search warrent. What the FUCK is Inside Pulse, anyway?

No one has figured that out, O Petulant One

I went over to the old place… who is that loser called “Huckaby”?

A mere speck in your infinite universe, O Mystical One

I almost showed up at Stephen Randle’s column. Christ, HOW ABOUT A HEADS UP BEFORE YOU SPLIT, HYATTE YOU DUMB FUCK

He is a true imbecile, O’ Self-Loathing One

Okay, let’s get on with this… I got a black bitch waiting for me at the closest Econolodge.

I hold in my hand a pile of envelopes. A child of four can see they are hermetically sealed, they have been kept in a jar and shoved up Lita’s chooch since noon today NO ONE has seen the contents of the envolopes but you, with your divine powers, will DIVULGE the answer before looking at the question…


Are you ready, Hyatte-Yak?


Hermetically sealed.


Up Lita’s chooch


Since noon today

……. Don’t we have to go to work in the morning?

Wasting our life here, indeed O Observant One

Give me the first envelope.


Hyatte-Yak must have ABSOLUTE silence!

Many times Hyatte-Yak GETS absolute silence

…. May your online stalker not even have the decency to be in her 20’s


puts envelope to forehead

Hardcore Heaven


rip… poof

What did they call Tammy’s trailer about an hour after Candido died?


May Dave Scherer becomer your son’s workout partner


puts envelope to forehead

88 Teeth


rip… poof

What’s in the first row of your average TNA show?


puts envelope to forehead

Latino Heat


rip… poof

What does Eddie do after smoking a big, fat, doob?


May you find your wife’s wedding band stuck under Flair’s bitch tit.


puts envelope to forehead

Dodge Stratus


rip… poof

What did the magazine cameraman do when he forgot to airbrush before printing.

……. that sucked, O Bombed One

May your longtime girlfriend find a cock big enough so she actually feels it.


May that cock be Canadian.


May that cock be pushed while you end up at TNA


puts envelope to forehead

Jeff Hardy, The Torch, and Dawn Marie’s belly


rip… poof

Name a fag, a rag, and a sag


May you hit send before smartening up.

HA HA HAaaa… huh? I don’t get that one, O Vague One

Inside joke… gimme the f*cking envelope


May a horny Hassan put your only daughter in the Camel Clutch


puts envelope to forehead



rip… poof

What’s some asshole gonna do when Dawn Marie says “IT’S YOURS!!”


Flea wrote that one…


May you spend an hour listening to a drunk Flea roll around his waterbed trying to get his pants off.

puts envelope to forehead

Can you dig that, sucka..


rip… poof

What will Booker T say to his brother after he kills his wife.


puts envelope to forehead

Just like that


rip… poof

How fast will Hyatte come if he ever sees Trish’s tits.


HEY!! May you actually start thinking that Wade Keller knows his shit


May you actually believe that Vince McMahon hates Dave Scherer


May you be part of the “Who fathered Dawn Marie’s baby” locker room pool


May you be the odds on favorite


puts envelope to forehead

Ground Beef


rip… poof

What will we call Stephanie if she ever loses her legs.


May some douche named “Styxx” suddenly be a part of your life.

puts envelope to forehead



rip… poof

What will the boys call Dawn Marie’s kid when they find out that Fifi is the daddy


puts envelope to forehead



rip… poof

What will TNA be doing if they sink any further?


puts envelope to forehead

Matt, Lita, and Edge


rip… poof

Name two pussies and where they should be pushed off of


May you be the one asshole Benoit decides not to sell for.


puts envelope to forehead

Stack of dimes


rip… poof

How much money has Randy Orton actually drawn?


May you be cornered by a talkative Widro


May Court Bauer suddenly be in charge of your career 


puts envelope to forehead

Motorhead Rules!


rip… poof

What did Patterson say after he sucked on the tailbike of his biiker boy’s Harley?


May you be forced to spend a few hours every week telling Bruce Mitchell how great he is to keep him from jumping to the Observer

I hold in my hand the LAST envelope

audience roars

May a college math teacher who calls himself Chaos and vow to ruin your life.


May you be stuck filling time while Terry Funk takes an hour selling his moosault.


May a nebbish Jew try to seduce your ex girlfriend

Let’s wrap this up, O Rambling One

puts envelope to forehead

Rob… Van… Dam


rip… poof

What did Rob Feinstein say when the cops asked him his name, where he was hiding the young boy, and if he knew pedofilia meant 20 years in jail?



FAREWELL, HYATTE-YAK… FAREWELL!!… and now… a few words from our friends at Budweiser… the KING of beers!

…. well, that was… longer than I expected…


I, for one, am so sick and tired of all these IDIOTS claiming that the Brand Extension should be discontinued and re-combined. Thus, I give you this ongoing gimmick.

Every week, I shall list one good reason why the Brand Extension is THE BEST THING THE WWE HAS DONE IN YEARS (other than hire Stratus), and why useless sheet writers like Wade “No, really, Pat McNeill is GOOD” Keller and worthless net writers like Dave “I refuse to pay” Scherer have shown their TRUE “intelligence” by holding onto this cheap, rushed, complaining for the sake of complaining ideal.

Pay attention and you’ll understand why you dumb f*cking sheep are listening to morons. 

The Brand Split Is Better For You Because… 

Without it, Benoit would be laying down for Heidenreich on LIVE TV!!



*In India, people are legally allowed to marry a dog.*

And just like that, you’re smarter than you were three seconds ago

Hyatte LIVES to inform.


Whenever we talk, I can always count on Flea to give his opinions on just about anything. And those opinions are usually extremely fascinating to listen to. It also allows me to go to the toilet or something while he lectures on.

So, I decided to grab a pen and paper and start jotting down his thoughts. Everyone likes Flea.

The following is 100% true… more or less:


Getting high on the cheap?

Can’t go wrong with dog tranquilizers

Flea, who has the nerve to recommend that I see a therapist


Flea: Only three writers in the world have ever meant anything, Hy-den-r8
Hyatte: Oh yeah, which ones?
Flea: Stephen King, George Orwell…
Hyatte: And?
Flea: (takes a long, drawn-out, desperate pull from his bong – followed by a nice, generous sip from his glass) and… whoever.
Hyatte: Whoever?
Flea: Yep
Hyatte: Who the f*ck is whoever?
Flea: When you know, then you’ll know


A couple of years ago, I decided that you clowns didn’t read enough, so I set out to change that by reviewing books I liked and inclusing nice excerpts so you could sample them.

And, as with all things I do, I got tired of it, ran out of steam, and stopped doing them bi-weekly… now you get them once in a while…

With Memorial Day on top of us, I thought it would be cool to feature a book that you already might have read… possibly as a school assignment… or you heard about through one of those heavy metal songs that the kids love these days.

One of the strongest, saddest, most appalling books about the effects of war is quite a few decades old, but the personal aspect Dalton Trumbo brought to Johnny Got His Gun still resonates today… resonates brightly.

Johnny Got His Gun is the story of Joe Bonham, a soldier in a hospital. He doesn’t know which hospital, or where its located… not a city, not a state, not a country, not even a continent. He doesn’t know who is tending to him, who his doctor is, or what year it is… he doesn’t even know the day.

He has full mental capacity, it’s his body that’s ravaged. He is a man in a hospital with no arms, no legs, and no face. War took it all away. He has no sight, no hearing, and no sense of smell. He is a shell with a soul. A mass of flesh and little else.

But he has two things left: his memories and his sense of touch.

The book opens with Joe remembering his past. Trumbo fills the book up enough with peeks into his life, and paced it just right so we learn enough about the man, but not enough to bore the audience. We meet his family, his girlfriend, and his simple life before war. The memories are disjointed and out of sequence, but Dalton creates a soul.

The rest of the book is Bonham’s struggle to deal with his new reality. How he tries to maintain some sanity by focusing on his one good sense, touch… how he learns to calculate time passage by the heat of the sun on his chest. How he learns to place his Nurses by the weight of their footsteps and by the way each one handles him. How he gets a sense of his surrounding by feeling the vibrations as nurses walk about. Bonham’s entire universe becomes centered around time…

Johnny Got His Gun doesn’t moan and groan about the senselessness of war, what Trumbo does is attack the bureacracy of it… and by the end of the book you will be mad, and heartbroken, and you’ll have a incredible sense of pity for Bonham. When he finally gets to ask a question, the answer will stun you, and piss you off.

But even today, the answer he gets will feel current. You’ll have no problems picturing the same answer being given to him today.

In this excerpt, Bonham has a major upheavel in his sightless, soundless existence – a pair of them, actually. Trumbo shows how something so minor to us serves as a major event in Bonham’s life, one that sparks his mind enough to make a discovery… a desperate way to communicate.

During the second year of his new time world nothing happened except that once a night nurse stumbled and fell to the floor setting up a fine vibration in his bedsprings. During the third year he was moved to a new room. The heat of the sun in the new room came in over the foot of his bed and by checking against the bath hour he figured that his head was to the east and his other end to the west. His new bed had a softer mattress and its springs were stiffer. They carried vibrations longer and that helped him a great deal. It took him months to locate the door and the dresser but they were months filled with calculation and excitement and finally with triumph. They were the shortest months he could remember in his whole life. All of this made the third year whisk by like a dream.

The fourth year started very slowly. He spent a lot of time trying to remember the books of the bible in their order but the only ones he could be sure of were Matthew Mark Luke and John and First and Second Samuel and First and Second Kings. He tried to put words to the story of David and Goliath and Nebuchadnezzar and Shadrack Meshack and Abednego. He remembered how his father used to yawn loudly around ten o’clock at night and stretch his arms and get up out of his chair and say Shadrack Meshack and to bed we go. But he couldn’t remember the stories that went with the characters very clearly so they were poor time fillers. That was bad because when he couldn’t fill in the time he got to worrying. He got to thinking I wonder if if I haven’t made a mistake in figuring the days the weeks the months? He got to thinking it wouldn’t be impossible to drop even a whole year if a person were careless. Then he would get excited and frantic. he would check back and back to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake so far back that he would get more confused than before. Every time he fell asleep he tried to have the day and month and year numbers firmly planted in his mind lest he forget them while he dreamed and every time he awakened his first panicky thought leaped at the terrible possibility he might not have remembered correctly the numbers he had in mind when he fell asleep.

And then an astonishing thing happened. One day toward the middle of the year the nurse gave him a completely fresh change of bed linen when he had received a change only the day before. Every third day he was changed no sooner and no later. yet here everything was upset and for two days in a row he was getting the change. he felt all in a hub-bub. He felt like bustling around from room to room and chattering about how busy he was and what great things were going to happen. he felt all bright with expectation and excitement. He wondered if he would get a fresh change of linen every day from now on or whether they would return again to te old schedule. This was as important as if an ordinary man with legs and arms and other parts were suddenly confronted with the possibility of living in a new house every day. It would be something to look forward to from day to day throughout the years. It would be something to break up time to make it something a guy could stand without mulling over Matthew Mark Luke and John.

The he noticed something else. In addition to giving him an unexpected bath the nurse was spraying him with something. He could feel the spray cool and misty against his skin. Then she put a clean nightshirt on him and folded the covers back at his throat. This was different too. He could feel her smoothing smoothing smoothing. He was given a fresh mask which the nurse arranged very fussily so that it fell to his throat and then was carefully tucked under the fold of the bedcovers. After that she combed his hair carefully and left. He could feel the vibrations of her footsteps as she went away and the little jar of the door closing behind her. Then he was alone.

He lay perfectly still because it was a very luxurious feeling to be so completely redone. His body glowed and his sheets were cool and crisp and even his scalp felt good. He was afraid to move for fear he would spoil the good feeling. There was only moment of this and then he felt the vibrations of four maybe five people coming into his room. He lay tense trying to catch their vibrations and wondering why they were there. The vibrations got heavier and then they stopped and he knew that people were gathered around his bed more people than ever before had been in his room at the same time. It was like the first time he went to school and was embarrassed and bewildered with so many people around. Little tremors of expectations ran through his stomach. He was stiff with excitement. He had visitors.

The first thought that passed through his mind was that they might be his mother and sisters and Kareen. There was just a chance that Kareen forever lovely and young was standing by him was looking down at him was even thios minute putting out her hand her soft tiny hand her beautiful beautiful hand to touch his forehead.

And then just as he could almost feel the touch of her hand his delight turned suddenly to shame. He hoped more than anything else in the world that it was not his mother and sisters and Kareen who had come to visit him. He didn’t want them to see him. He didn’t want anybody he had ever known to see him. He knew now how foolish it had been to wish for them as sometimes in his loneliness he had. It was all right to think about having them near it was comforting it was warm and pleasant. But the idea that they might be beside his bed right now was too terrible to cope with. He jerked his head convulsively away from his visitors. He knew this dislodged his mask but he was beyond thinking of masks. He only wanted to hide his face to turn his blind sockets away from them to keep them from seeing the chewed up hole that used to be a nose and mouth that used to be a living human face. He got so frantic that he began to thrash from side to side like someone very sick with a high fever who can only monotonously repeat a motion or a word. He fell into his old rocking motion throwing his weight from one shoulder to the other back and forth back and forth back and forth.

A hand came to rest on his forehead. He quieted because it was the hand of a man heavy and warm. Part of it lay on the skin of his forehead and part of it he felt through the mask which cut across his forehead. He lay still again. Then another hand began to fold the covers back from his throat. One fold. One and a half folds. He grew very quiet very alert very curious. He thought very hard about who they might be. 

Then he had it. They were doctors come to examine him. They were visiting firemen. He was probably a very famous guy by this time and the doctors were beginning to make pilgramiges. One doctor was probably saying to the others you see how we were able to do it? You see what a clever job we did? You see where the arm came off and you see the hole in his face and you see he still lives? Listen to his heart it’s beating just like your heart or mine. Oh we did a fine job when we got him. It was a great piece of luck and we’re all proud. Stop by in my office on your way out and I’ll give you one of his teeth for a souvenir. They take a wonderful polish he was young you see and his teeth were in good condition. Would you like a front one or would you prefer a good thick tusker from farther back? The thick ones look best on a watch chain.

Somebody was plucking at his nightshirt over his left breast. It was as if a forefinger and thumb were pinching up a portion of it. He lay very quiet now deathly quiet his mind jumping in a hundred different directions at once. He could sense that something important was about to happen. There was a little more fumbling with the pinch of nightshirt and then the cloth fell back against his chest once more. It was heavy now weighted down by something. He felt the sudden coolness of metal through his nightshirt against his chest over his heart. They had pinned something on him.

Suddenly he did a curious thing he hadn’t done for months. He started to reach with his right hand for the heavy thing they had pinned on him and it seemed that he almost clutched it in his fingers before he realized that he had no arm to reach with and no fingers for clutching.

Someone was kissing his temple. There was a slight tickling of hair as the kiss was given. He was being kissed by a man with a mustache. First his left temple and then his right one. Then he knew what they had done to him. They had come into his room and they had decorated him with a medal. He knew furthermore that he must be in France instead of England because French generals shook your hand but since he had no hand to shake maybe this was an Englishman or an American who had decided to follow the French custom because there was no other way to do it. But still the chances now seemed even that he was in France.

When he snapped back from thinking of where he was and adjusting himself to the idea that it might be France he was a little surprised to find that he was getting mad. They had given him a medal. Three or four big guys famous guys who still had arms and legs and who could see and talk and smell and taste had come into his room and they had pinned a medal on him. They could afford to couldn’t they the dirty bastards? That was all they ever had time to do just run around putting medals on guys and feeling important and smug about it. How many generals got killed in the war? There was Kitchener of course but that was an accident. How many of them had got all shot up so they had to live wrapped in a sheet for the rest of their lives? They had a lot of guts coming around and giving medals.

When he had thought for an instant that his mother and his sisters and Kareen might be stadning beside the bed he had wanted to hide. But now that he had generals and big guys he felt a sudden fierce surging desire for them to see him. Just as before he had started to reach for the medal without an arm to reach with so now he began to blow the mask off his face without having mouth and lips to blow with. He wanted them to get just one look at that hole in his head. he wanted them to get their fill of a face that began and ended with a forehead. He lay there blowing and then he realized that the air from his lungs was all escaping through his tube. he began to roll again from shoulder to shoulder hoping to dislodge the mask.

While he lay there rolling and puffing he felt a vibration way down in his throat a vibration that might be a voice. It was a short deep vibration and he knew that it was making a sound to their ears. Not a very big sound not a very intelligent sound but it must seem to them at least as interesting as the grunting of a pig. And if he could grunt like a pig why then he was accomplishing a great thing because before he had been completely silent. So he lay thrashing and puffing and grunting like a pig hoping that they would see damned well how much he appreciated their medal. While he was in the middle of this there was an indefinte churning of footsteps and then the departing vibrations of his guests. A moment later he was all alone in the blackness in the silence. He was all alone with his medal.

Suddenly, he quieted. He was thinking about the vibrations of those footsteps. He had always carefully felt for vibrations. He had measured the size of his nurses and the dimensions of his room of four or five people tramping actoss the room made him think. It made him realize that vibrations were very important. He had thought of them up to this time only as vibrations coming to him. Now he began to consider that also there could be vibrations going from him. The vibrations which he received told him everything – height weight distance time. Why shouldn’t he be able to tell soemthing to the outside world by vibrations also? 

In the back of his mind something began to glimmer. If he could in some way make use of vibrations he could communicate with these people. Then the glimmer became a great dazzling white light. It opened up such breathless prospects that he thought he might suffocate from sheer excitement. Vibrations were a very important part of communication. The fall of a foot on the floor is one kind of vibration. The tap of a telegraph is simply another kind.

When he was a kid way back maybe four years ago or five he had a wireless set. He and Bill Harper used to telegraph each other. Dot dash dot dash dot. Particularly on rainy nights when their folks wouldn’t let them go out and there was nothing to do and they just lounged around the house and got in everybody’s way. On such nights he and Bill Harper used to dot and dash at each other and they had a hell of a good time. He still remembered the Morse code. All he had to do in order to break through to people in the outside world was to lie in bed and dot dash to the nurse, Then he could talk. Then he would have smashed through his silense and blackness and helplessness. Then the stump of a man without lips would talk. He had captured time and he had tried to figure geography and now he would do the greatest thing of them all he would talk. he would give messages and receive messages and he would have made another step forward in his struggle to get back to people in his terrible lonely eagerness for the feel of people near him for the things that were in their minds for the thoughts they might give him his own thoughts were so puny so unfinished so incomplete. He would talk.

Tentatively he raised his head from the pillow and let it fall back again. Then he did it twice quickly. That would be a dash and two dots. The letter d. he tapped out SOS against his pillow. Dot-dot-dot dot dot dot-dot-dot. SOS. Help. if there was anybody in the whole world needed help he was the guy and now he was asking for it. He wished the nurse would hurry back, he began to tap out questions. What time is it? What’s the date? Where am I? Is the sun shining or is it cloudy? Does anybody know who I am? Do my folks know I’m lying here? Don’t tell them. Don’t let them know anything about it. SOS. Help.

And… after many years, he is answered.

This is required reading. Trumbo puts us into Bonham’s scattered thoughts by simply omitting proper commas and periods. Who actually does think with commas anyway? He doesn’t ruminate on war, but the sheer strength of the story and the hopelessness of Bonham’s new life makes this one of the definitive anti-war books. It centers squarely on the REAL effects of war after the TV cameras blink off, the radio mics are shut off, and the newspaper reports go home to file their story. It focuses on the leftovers, the table scraps, what happens to the soldiers no one wants to report on, especially the Government.

Plus, Metallica wrote a song about the guy… and even THAT was sad.

Johnny Got His Gun is the book. Joe Bonham is the man its about. This is a fictional tale, but you’ll forget that. And you’ll be moved. Isn’t that what a book is supposed to do?

My name is Chris Hyatte and I will rape your momma if it’ll MAKE YOU READ!!!


I think we’ve had enough of each other for a week… so let’s hit ten quick ones and get outta here.

01): Look at him. He’s standing there asking about what the movie is about having not seen the first one. He’s got a wrinkled shirt on and he works for CBS. He’s mad at me and he wants to hit me but he can’t because he’s under contract but you can meet me later if you want. He’s still mad. Smile Partner.– Burt Renyolds: after slapping a reporter in the face for asking him what The Longest Yard is about. 

02): Who made that man a gunner? 

I did sir. He’s my cousin. 

Who is he? 

He’s an asshole sir. 

I know that!….What’s his name? 

That is his name sir, Major Asshole 

and his cousin? 

He’s an asshole too sir: Gunner’s mate, first class, Philip Asshole 

How many assholes we got on this ship anyhow? 

(Everyone on board shouts) YO!!!! 

I knew it, I’m surrounded by assholes. Keep firing assholes!!Spaceballs 

03): You come to me out of the blue, asking to buy twenty hits. Just so happens that twenty being the magic number at which intent to sell becomes trafficking! 

Todd, I would never f*ck you like that. 

How would you f*ck me then?Go 

04): You can’t be a proper writer without a touch of madness, can you?Quills 

05): This is how Liberty dies – with thunderous applause.Star Wars Episode Three: Revenge of the Sith

06): That is the most pungent thing I have ever smelled….and I am from India!The Simpsons

07): FUCK…. THE…. SHITOUTTAME…. FUCK FUCK FUCK…. YEAH… YEAH… YEAHHHHHHard Wars: Revenge of the Stiff (a Metro Video Production)

08): “Captain Hawk sucks the sweat off of a dead mans balls.” I have no idea what that means, but it seems very negative to me.Good Morning Vietnam

09): Your mother is a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries… now go away before I taunt you a second time!Monty Python and The Holy Grail

10): Katie Holmes must have some good pussy.– Comedian on Best Week Ever explaining Tom Cruise’s behavior

I’d like to think she does… always liked that kid.

By the way… Revenge of the Sith may have featured the most atrocious dialogue EVER spoken in a non-porno film. 

And how about Burt Reynolds slapping some punk around like that… God Bless the obsolete, handsome bastard!!

Speaking of obsolete… it’s time for this old goat to call it a week… I jammed the column HUGE this time out… probably made you all sick and tired and bug eyed… well I don’t CARE… much.


I…. I need a woman.

This is Hyatte