Lost in Cyberspace

Author's Note 11-07-13: This video was uploaded by Michael Casher to Blogger. You can't watch this video at YouTube because it does not exist there. That is another Google redirect which is nothing more than a lie to get you to watch other videos at YouTube instead of the uploaded video on this blog post. This new uploaded format at Blogger was introduced in November 2013 by Google without notice to anyone.

Fred's Nightclub Debut

Hey, just because Red Mouthpiece is now an emcee at Retro Comic Spotlight is no reason for me to stop doing comedy at "The Red Room". Maybe Cydonia isn't Vegas but nobody up here gives a damn about Wayne Newton or Elvis so being the only stand-up comic from Earth pretty much makes Cydonia my town. 

Do I get paid for these gigs? Nope. My "pay" is that I get to live. If you can call it "living" to be kept by Reptilians against your will under the ruins of a Martian capital. But, hey, it's better than busting my chops about conspiracies that no one else gives a shit about. So it is.

And, hey, I know my mouth is too close to the microphone and that's why you hear all those "thumping" noises and shit. Everybody knows that by now. Cripes, they know that in Russia by now. You think it's easy being on stage in front of a bunch of drunken Reptilians and homeless, abducted, Martian Underground bums like me and their jaded, heckling dates? Like I said before, I'm not a "Vegas-ey" kind of guy. So I'm not.

Fred Calls Home

Hi, this is Farmsworth Mudd, Fred Fortune's "conspiracy theory" co-conspirator. Hmmm, that doesn't sound right. Oh well. Hey, Fred didn't want to post this video after he made it but I talked him into it. He said he looked and sounded goofy on camera and I told him that he always looks and sounds goofy — especially on camera — and that he should just sit back and enjoy it.

When he didn't slug me for that little wisecrack, I knew that he got the picture and that posting this for him wouldn't be an act of betrayal on my part. That's a relief because being a commodities broker on Wall Street made me feel like a Big Bad Apple of some kind, even though I lived in Queens.

You know, Fred Fortune might be the strangest person I've ever encountered in my life and he probably is a homeless con man and an interplanetary thief and an intergalactic felon — as well as the Earthling you never want to become — but he's still more interesting than anybody I ever knew from The Big Apple. So he is.

 Author's Note 11-07-13: This video was uploaded by Michael Casher to Blogger. You can't watch this video at YouTube because it does not exist there. That is another Google redirect which is nothing more than a lie to get you to watch other videos at YouTube instead of the uploaded video on this blog post. This new uploaded format at Blogger was introduced in November 2013 by Google without notice to anyone.

Fred & Red Do Cydonia

Fred took a little vacation and left his "pal" Farnsworth M. Mudd in charge of things until he gets back. So, naturally, Farnsworth went apeshit and whole hog in the unauthorized file-sharing and video-pirating department.

If we were Farnsworth, we'd start looking for a new place to hide out. Cydonia will no longer be big enough for the both of them. So, you'd better get your upwardly-mobile butt out of town before sundown. Hell, Fred was right. Never trust an ex-Wall Street commodities broker who wears penny loafers.

And just who are we? Hmmphh! Who in the hell do you think we are?

"Fred & Red" Do Cydonia

Author's Note 04-20-14: Due to a lack of interest, including low blog traffic, zero ebook sales of "The Four Bloggers of The Apocalypse" and no feedback, when feedback was available, Fred & Red never did Cydonia. So they didn't. That's right, the comedy team disbanded before their first gig. Then Fred Fortune went solo. So he did.

Author's Note 11-07-13: This video was uploaded by Michael Casher to Blogger. You can't watch this video at YouTube because it does not exist there. That is another Google redirect which is nothing more than a lie to get you to watch other videos at YouTube instead of the uploaded video on this blog post. This new uploaded format at Blogger was introduced in November 2013 by Google without notice to anyone.

Viewing Tip: If you're using headphones, turn the volume way down before starting the video. If you're not using headphones, turn the volume up before you start the video. Blog Admin Update 6-6-13: Hey, Google, stop deleting our videos and making us re-upload them. Try dumping some hateful and filthy content for a change. That way, you might clean up your own image, which is desperately in need of a moral and visual face-lift. So it is.

Space Junk

Mars is nothing like you'd expect it to be if you never got past 1950's sci-fi movies, like me. In fact, I don't give a shit that life as we know it could end on December 21, 2012. As far as I'm concerned, life as I knew it ended on December 31, 1959.

Man, I wish it was 1950 again. I wish I could put on a spacesuit and walk over to a great big silver rocket that's waiting on it's big silver fins just to blast off and take me back to good old Earth. But not the Earth of the new millennium. Not an Earth where some techno-geek can steal the S.O.S. videos I risked my sorry neck for, just so he could display them on the World Wide Web as "junk". Junk, my ass. This is the real world out here.

That's right, some "comedian" back on Earth put all my videos on a dopey website called Junk TV. When I stumbled upon that website one day not too long ago, it really pissed me off. Pissed me right off.

Junk TV

You know, I made those Mars Broadcasts with no skills whatsoever and, basically no tools. Unless you call an old Commodore 64 PC with vintage dial-up Internet access, a broken stick mike that I had to tape together and a web cam that looks like it was made by Fisher-Price. But, what the hell, this isn't the Mars in the 1950's sci-fi movies. There are no Martians here. Just homeless bums like me, mostly from, L.A. and New York, and a handful of prison guards who are Reptilians and Grays, which is like being babysat by a bunch of bad-ass bugs.

But, what the hell should I care if some opportunistic Internet pirate stole my videos and made a name for himself out of them? Maybe I should thank him for putting all my videos in one place instead of making you video hound dogs root around my blog and dig for them. Still, if I could get back to Earth, a certain indie author I know would have his butt in a wringer so tight he'd have to dial 9-1-1 to break wind.

Merry Christmas from Mars

Because of recent developments beyond my control, I'm unable to show my ugly mug in person. You guessed it, Warden Liz finally caught me red-handed, all "live" and "in the act" of broadcasting my conspiracy doo-doo (my conspiracy doo-doo is as good as anyone else's) to the rest of the solar system.

But that's not why she zapped me with her trusty discombobulator. No, she said she caught me before I said anything even remotely damaging to the Earthling abduction project. Hmmphh! Then why did she get so mad that she zapped me right out of the chair if she didn't even feel threatened by my broadcast? Because someone posted an animated caricature of her (a flash image) on the Saturn Outernet earlier this month and she thinks it was me, that's why.

Well... I'll do some squealing and finger pointing about that deal sometime after the New Year. I'll show that psycho Reptilian fembot a thing or two. I'll find that graffiti caricature of her and re-post it. That'll teach her to throw me around a room just for fun. Anyway, my broadcast days are over until I can come up with something that will really make her mad. The madder she gets, the more I'll feel like a conspiracy bell-ringer.

So, anyway, when I woke up after hitting the floor at the end of Broadcast Number Four, she tossed me around for a while, swearing and clicking in her native lizard tongue, and then she let me go because she couldn't stop laughing at the chocolate drool that came out of my mouth every time I lost consciousness. Still, she did bounce me off a few pieces of furniture and a couple of walls before she got tired of that shit. Apparently, the only thing that saved my life is that I'm such a bore. Thank heavens for that.

Before she let me go she didn't even bother to make me promise to stop broadcasting my conspiracy doo-doo. And that pissed me off. Pissed me right off. The big scaly sow didn't bother to penalize me because she thinks I have no audience, no viewers and no followers. And, therefore, no proof. Well, that's only her opinion. But, until I can find some hard evidence of life on Mars, I'll take a break from videocasting. Besides, it's too close to Christmas to get my shorts in a twist over anything, especially a lizard heckler the size of a kangaroo.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from Mars!

Mars Broadcast #4

Fred Fortune's
Mars Broadcast #4

Author's Note 11-07-13: This video was uploaded by Michael Casher to Blogger. You can't watch this video at YouTube because it does not exist there. That is another Google redirect which is nothing more than a lie to get you to watch other videos at YouTube instead of the uploaded video on this blog post. This new uploaded format at Blogger was introduced in November 2013 by Google without notice to anyone.

TC

Mars Broadcast #3

Fred Fortune's
Mars Broadcast #3

Author's Note 11-07-13: This video was uploaded by Michael Casher to Blogger. You can't watch this video at YouTube because it does not exist there. That is another Google redirect which is nothing more than a lie to get you to watch other videos at YouTube instead of the uploaded video on this blog post. This new uploaded format at Blogger was introduced in November 2013 by Google without notice to anyone.

TC

It's A Mad Mad Mad Medical World

One thing I'll never miss about Earth is having to go to the hospital. Going to the doctor wasn't so bad when I was a kid because you actually got to see the doctor. Nowadays, he or she roller skates from treatment room to treatment room while medical underlings like physicians assistants and nurse practitioners and registered nurses and licensed practical nurses and blood technicians poke and prod and siphon you. That way they can all get a piece of the insurance pie before Mr. or Ms. God him or herself graces you with their presence. And, invariably, their presence is to nod and nod and write you a kickback-infested prescription and then bill you for an extended office visit which your medical insurance will only pay half of.

Then if you have to go to the hospital you'd better hope it's not in an ambulance. If it is an ambulance, bigass EMTs will knock over your lamps and end tables trying to get you on the gurney while a backup paramedic watches and chews gum. Your bill will be big enough that you'll have to take out a loan in order to pay it. Then, when you get to the hospital, at least a dozen medical professionals, including at least six kinds of doctors, will see you for one minute each and then bill you for consultations.

If they admit you, you will be growled at by middle-aged female nurses who hate their ex-husbands almost as much as they hate you and hate taking care of you, even though they're getting paid about twenty dollars per hour more than their sorry asses are worth. If you're lucky, you'll get a dedicated twenty-something female nurse who still believes in her oath and her duty to care for you, no matter who you are. If you're still unlucky, you'll get a male nurse who hates to clean up after you or a young redneck female nurse who bitches and moans about her kids and her sorry home life all day long.

If your luck has totally run out then you'll be assigned a doctor who does not speak English and who hates white people but who loves the grant money that the hospital got to pay his or her white-hating salary. He or she will mistreat your family visitors who are, contrary to the stereotype labels they were instantly given at the uppity hospital, without a racist bone in their bodies. They will be stereotyped and hated because the racist Middle Eastern or Indian or Pakistani male or female doctor they stuck you with thinks only white people can be hateful and therefore hates all of you from day one, before any of you even get the opportunity to speak.

If you're lucky enough to get discharged before two tor three months have gone by and your hospital bill is then so big that you'll have to take out a second mortgage on your home to pay half of it, you'll probably still have diarrhea from the Clostridium difficile infection (C. diff) you picked up from unclean medical professionals' hands during your hospital stay. They will hide this fact from you as long as you're in their care, so you won't bolt, scream or sue.

Then, if you are completely luckless, you'll be visited by a home health nurse who will botch your home blood tests and call an ambulance for you, which you will not be able to afford again. Or, bad luck still in place, you'll be visited by a referred physical therapist who will insult you and your family members for having signs in your driveway warning off trespassing ATVs. Like it's any of his goddamn business.

Man, I wouldn't go back to Earth for all the money in the world. Sooner or later, some medical professional would just bill me for all of it.

Pooped and PO'd

That's right, I'm pooped and PO'd. Tired and ticked off. I'm a frazzled Freddy from blogging and making video SOS messages that not only go unnoticed by the people who matter, they get snatched by the people who don't. Internet pirates.

Cripes, I don't even know why I warmed up the old Commodore 64 today. No use checking the AOL TV listings. We don't have TV on Mars and, if we did, it would probably be even worse than the crap they consume by the bucketful back on Earth. No, come to think of it, nothing could top American television for filth and decadence and commercial overkill. Mars TV would be a big step up, even if all we had were reruns of old Nazi-Martian sitcoms like Love That Bunny, starring Hermann Goering as Bunny Malloy, the cross-dressing heartbreaker from Berlin. Or encores of the made-for-Nazi-TV movie "Days of Whine and Poses" (as I mentioned in an earlier post) starring Mr. Goering again as Ms. Malloy and Mr. Adolph Hitler, himself, as a dictator enduring a mid-life crisis as well as a full-blown identity crisis. Yep, even that extreme excrement would surpass in quality this year's prime-time lineup back on Earth.

But I'm not here today to talk about kinky Krauts from The Third Reich. I'm here to announce that, as long as my Mars Broadcasts can be downloaded using Real Player's "Download Video" feature, I'll never risk my flabby neck to make another one. Real Player now joins my ever-growing list of "bottom feeders", along with certain insurance companies and major credit card companies in the good ol' USA, which is rapidly becoming "the bad ol' USA" because of criminal corporate misconduct. Like raising the price of a gallon of gasoline by 30 cents just because major holidays are approaching. Insufferable rat bastards.

And the next thing I need to get off my bony chest, besides telling everybody that it will be a warm day on Mars before I fire up Windows Movie Maker again, is that I realize that it doesn't matter what I write on this blog because, apparently, people are only interested in my video broadcasts. Um, hmm, that's right. To the tune that they now appear on a website that caters to creeps who like dirty chat rooms and filthy ads. May their own karma be their eternal judge.

So, as long as it doesn't matter what the hell I write about on this blog, I may as well post anything at all. Any damn thing at all. Try this:

"Up your ass with a blade of grass."

Or this:

"Up your nose with a rubber hose."

Or, I could type out the lyrics to a ridiculous school boy ditty from the early 20th Century:

Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!
Teacher hit me with a ruler!
I hit her on the bean
With a rotten tangerine
And her teeth came marching out!

I could even quote from the Wild Man Fischer song, Merry Go Round:

"Merry-go! Merry-go! Merry-go-round!
Oooo, oooo, oooo!
Merry-go! Merry-go! Merry-go round!"

And then quote from another Wild Man Fischer song, Monkeys VS Donkeys:

"Monkeys versus donkeys!
Monkeys versus donkeys!
Monkeys versus donkeys!"

And no one would know the goddamn difference because, if there are no videos to steal on this post, there's nothing for them to look at. They like TV and that's what a video is. Couch potato shit for Web potatoes. That's right, most people would rather watch a screen than read anything, just like they'd rather steal than make their own stuff or poke fun rather than create. Hell, I'd take a picture of myself mooning the entire solar system but, sure as hell, someone would just copy and paste that image on some trashy website that appears to be an astronomy website in the Google Search results.

Nooo, thank you. I'd rather be chased all around the underground ruins of Cydonia by Reptilians who have ray guns as big as Super Soakers. At least those big-ass, biped lizards have a legitimate reason for wanting my ass.

Mars Broadcast #2

Fred Fortune's
Mars Broadcast #2

Author's Note 11-07-13: This video was uploaded by Michael Casher to Blogger. You can't watch this video at YouTube because it does not exist there. That is another Google redirect which is nothing more than a lie to get you to watch other videos at YouTube instead of the uploaded video on this blog post. This new uploaded format at Blogger was introduced in November 2013 by Google without notice to anyone.

TC

Mars Broadcast #1

Fred Fortune's
Mars Broadcast #1

Author's Note 11-07-13: This video was uploaded by Michael Casher to Blogger. You can't watch this video at YouTube because it does not exist there. That is another Google redirect which is nothing more than a lie to get you to watch other videos at YouTube instead of the uploaded video on this blog post. This new uploaded format at Blogger was introduced in November 2013 by Google without notice to anyone.

TC

Untouchables

Internet service on Mars stinks to high heaven because of all the goddamn wind storms on the planet's surface but, every now and then, I'm able to make a connection and surf the World Wide Web on Earth. And, when, I do, I usually get bumped off right away. And after foraging for food and slugging it out with other bums and sucking stones all day for ancient salt, I usually have only three or four minutes out of each day to do any Web surfing. And that's mostly for posting this blog and then for checking out the Cable TV listings, don't ask me why. There is no television in the Mars underground. And no radio, either. We're lucky to have a half dozen old Commodore 64 PCs with their rinky-dink 28.8 bps modems to fool around with. And Mars, by the way, only has dial-up and that's like sending an email message by carrier pigeon. Come to think of it, if we had any pigeons out here on Mars, they'd be dinner, not messengers.

Saturn, on the other hand, has a much better planet-wide information and entertainment network. They call it call the Outernet. But Martians, like Earthlings, are forbidden to have access to it. Saturnites are afraid that their relatively safe and secure, family-friendly, global communications network will go to hell in a chamber pot within two days if Earthlings get their grubby mitts on it. And they're absolutely right. The Saturn Outernet would soon be just another sleazy money-making tool for Hollywood and the Russian mob, just like Earth's Internet, if Earthlings had anything to do with it. That's why the Saturnites are the real Untouchables in this solar system.

But what Saturn has against Martians is beyond me. The only Martians left on Mars are homeless Earthling bums like me who were dumped here by the Grays after the creepy little light-bulb heads rejected our DNA as unsuitable for bubble-head breeding stock. Thank heavens for that. Besides, most of us Martian transplants are way too busy foraging for food or foraging for other bums who have food to cause Saturn any trouble. Theft and robbery are full-time jobs out here. Hell, it's enough to make me miss my shopping cart and my appliance carton back on Earth. I gave up missing my recliner months ago. No, it wasn't a goddamn Barcalounger.