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Jorg Haider before/after Dangerously disorganized thoughts. Jorg Haider was in the news today for rescinding an earlier threat to step down as governor in his province of Austria after his ultra-conservative party was swept from power in this weeks elections. You'll remember Jorg Haider as the man who wished to close Austria's borders, came to power in a blaze of nationalism, and was known to have uttered pro-nazi statements from time to time on the floor of their parliament, or whatever sham government they run there now. Its one thing to sniff the powder all night and have someone come out of left field with the nazi comments, which usually takes place somewhere around dawn, before the, 'You know, I just need some ciggarettes and I'm fine' conversation, and just after the 'my old man and I never got along' conversation. But in a public forum, in a center of government, nonetheless, such utterances are unseemly at best, brutishly dumb in the middle, and dangerous at worst. I personally remember Jorg Haider from a time when I lived in another town, not too far from here with my best friend in a cramped two bedroom apartment. We were watching TV and getting ridiculously stoned, one of those days where going outside is a myth and a large bag of marijuana seems to be more of a challenge than a pastime. Joint after joint after joint. Hey, I've got an idea, for a change, lets just see how high we can get. Lets see how much pot we can physically toke. Its a new idea. One I think you'll like. And that bastard never bought any of the weed. (He has also recently kicked me out of his wedding, on unrelated matters.) I couldn't leave roaches around the apartment, and if you've ever had that type of living arrangement, you know what I'm saying. Like a vulture, a mooching pot vulture, considering roaches to be PD, even in my own ashtray. fucker. Anyway, when you get to a level of use at that point, where there are no breaks and the quest is always about rolling the perfect joint, the only way you stop smoking is by forgetting there's a lit joint in your hand and focusing on something else. I focused in on the TV. Jorg Haider had just formed a coalition gov't in Austria and was threatening to close the borders. Whoopee. Nazis are back in power in a shit little country of even less consequence, other than when it comes to bitching about American Imperialism and the blantant dishonesty of capitalisim, and OH NO, the floor of the UN comes alive with their spastic shit. You know, sometimes the level of hypocrisy stuns me. After all, they are something less than one generation removed from rounding people up and attempting to systemically eradicate them. All our histories are soaked in blood, as we are the winners. The losers gnash their teeth and count their dead, if they are still alive to do so. Hideaous, barbaric, and true. Anyway, Jorg came to power, I was high as hell, and silence was broken in my living room. A portly Austrian, clearly a supporter of old Jorg, gave an interveiw. In lederhosen. My roomate shrieked a high-pitched screetch of laughter resembling that of an agitated fruitbat. The man spoke with a thick accent. "SZImpahhsable to knaw what Haider is doing, or is gohing to do. No whan knohws what Haider is going to do. It ezzz rhidiculouhs to even speak suhch 'tings." My roomate feel out of his chair, screeching. I laughed, and glanced over at the copy of Time magazine. Jorg was on the cover, in one of their artistic peices, done in red, blue and points of orange, Jorg looked like the devil himself. I took the Time and threw it at him on the floor. "Good god man, get ahold of yourself. This Nazi has made the cover of Time." I said. He made it back to his chair, and picked up the Time in the process, wiping tears away from his eyes. "Was it the lederhosen?" I asked. He nodded, and shrieked in laughter again, unable to speak. The next day, as I got up to go to work, I walked into the bathroom bleary eyed with sleep. I turned on the light, getting ready to take my morning piss, to be startled by none other than the demonic face of Jorg Haider, propped up on the toilet seat, staring straight back at me from the cover of Time. On the top of the magazine, my roomate had written on a peice of tape, in manic scrawl of red and blue pen, "NOBODY FUCKS WITH HAIDER". Cursing and finishing up, I flushed the toilet and turned on the shower. He had also purposely left the change over valve flipped, so the shower came full on with cold water on my head. So, from that auspicious beginning to now, I pay attention to the moves of Jorg Haider, Nazi sympathizer.
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